


The Sky Will Fall Down

by cloud_wolfbane



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Feels, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloud_wolfbane/pseuds/cloud_wolfbane
Summary: Charles and Erik have been lab rats at the Institute for years when a bit of luck allows them to escape. On the way to freedom, Charles insists they save a tormented soldier with memory problems. Together the trio forms a family built on ties much stronger than blood.





	1. The Door’s Not a Wall Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams if The Plague Dogs had a happy ending. 
> 
> Warnings for some violence, Hydra being really terrible to pretty much everyone, and Erik having some rather dramatic experiences with water.
> 
> Also, an endless thank you to my long suffering beta Ilovebeingme, who puts up with my mad story ideas and random questions at all hours.

## Chapter One: The Door’s Not a Wall Anymore

_**The Tod:** Do ye know why we're still alive, with hundreds, maybe thousands of men that'd be glad to kill us?_

_**Snitter:** They wouldn't dare. I've only got to drown, or jump under a truck, and the sky will fall down and all the men will die. Have you ever thought of that, Rowf? That puts us one upon them!_

**-The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams**

The water is cold. It stiffens his muscles and makes his body sluggish, but still he swims. He can hear the whitecoats commenting on his performance, scribbling notes as they watch their lab rat perform. He can see them at the edge of his vision. Erik hates them.

He stretches his power out, reaches for the smallest ounce of metal. There is a massive amount looming overhead, but he already knew that. This is not his first time in the water.

“Begin,” one of the whitecoats say, his voice emotionless, he might as well be a robot. The stopwatch begins to tick. 

The metal above his head gives a horrible screech and Erik can feel his heart pounding in his chest. _"Charles"_ he thinks, but the thought vanishes into the ether. Above, the great block of metal descends, it is a slow drop, but soon Erik must brace his hands against it and push. The metal is cold and slippery on his palms, he can feel the steady thrum of the dense iron lighting across his senses.

Tick. Tock. 

The push of his palms is nothing, he does not have the physical strength to force the block away, but his powers press into it. Waves of magnetic current shove into the metal and he keeps it at bay. He kicks wildly in the water, the floor of the pool is too deep; he has no traction, only the raw strength of his powers.

Tick. Tock.

He does not know how long he struggles. There is only the metal and the chattering of his teeth as his body goes numb. The mechanism controlling the block gives a violent wail and Erik slips further into the water.

Tick. Tock.

He screams, pushing the metal with everything he has. He sinks further. Now his chin is in the water and he has his shoulders pressed to the cold metal. He sinks further. His mouth goes under.

Tick. Tock.

He can only breath out of his nose now, rapid inhales because he is panicking. He always panics here. Why is he so weak? _“Charles,”_ he cries out again, but there is no answer.

Tick. Tock.

The block shoves him deeper until only his eyes are free of the cursed water and his lungs burn, they burn. This is it, he thinks, they won’t pull me out this time. He shoves against the block, one last desperate bid for air, he moves it enough to take one shuddering, gasping breath before the thing descends, a mountain of immovable iron.

Tick. Tock.

Erik lets himself fall, gives into the freezing depths of the pool and lets the numbness invade his bones. He thinks he can see the outline of his hands melted into the block. _“I’m sorry,”_ he sends.

Silence.

***

_“Erik.”_

_“Erik.”_

_“Erik!”_

Erik jolts awake with a hacking cough. He gags, and has to pull the plastic tubing from his throat. Water dribbles from around the tube as he yanks it free and tosses it to the other end of his cage.

_“To your right.”_

He reaches out, grabbing the plastic bucket to his right and heaves until water and bile clears out of his stomach. He takes a moment, pressing his brow to his forearm and just breathes. The bile is sour in his nose and smells of chlorine, but it is air, and he is grateful for it. 

Erik slowly moves away from the bucket, his body feels weighed down, like the metal block rests over his chest, forever pushing him down. His cage is plastic, a sturdy, clear substance that haunts him. Though it does offer him an easy look at his neighbor. _“Charles,”_ he projects, sending a wave of happiness and relief. The doctors had dragged Charles away the night before. They often separate them for testing, but last night had been the first time that the link between them had gone quiet.

He forces himself to crawl over to their usual corner of the cell. A small air hole is drilled between the two cages, just large enough for them to touch fingers. Charles is already there, leaning into the wall as if it is the only thing keeping him up, Erik suspects it is.

_“Oh Charles, what did they do?”_ From this angle Erik can see a jagged scar running along the left side of his shaved head, leading from the temple and curling around his ear. The cut hasn’t even been properly stitched; instead staples keep the bloody mess patched together.

_“It hurts,”_ Charles mental voice is muffled, like he is talking through cotton.

Erik presses his fingers against Charles in the small connection between their cages. The skin on skin contact sends a fresh wave of feelings from Charles, _"pain, fear, it hurts, it hurts, Erik, gone, gone, dead, he’s gone, I can’t hear him, they've killed him, hurts, Erik, Erik, ERIK!”_

Erik jerks his fingers away. His heart is pounding and he is breathing too quickly. He feels like he does right before he goes into the water. _“Charles, they didn’t kill me, I’m here, I’m right here,”_ he sends along their link. It feels strained now, damaged.

He reaches his senses out, wondering if the staples are metal, he thinks that maybe if he can make Charles feel him use his powers he may calm down. The staples are not metal, but the 2X4 inch plate bolted to Charles skull is. _“Oh god, Charles,”_ Erik gasps, because he recognizes that alloy.

Erik is not sure how long he has been with Charles, but he knows it has been a couple of years. He had been at the lab for at least a year himself when the scientists had dragged a small boy into the room and shoved him into the cage next to him. They said nothing to him, but Erik had been used to that by then.

The boy had been small, barely covered in a thin hospital gown and shaking so badly he looked like he was going to hurt himself. _“Hello,”_ he had called, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

The boy had jerked up, looking at him with impossible blue eyes. Then his mind had rolled over Erik. Charles had burrowed into his brain like a seed, stretching out new roots. He had been overwhelmed, no longer himself, but a part of a whole.

It had taken three days for Charles to finally pull out of his mind, but by then the link had been forged, an adamantium cable coiled around them. Charles had explained, as best he could what had happened. His parents had taken him to the Institute, as they apparently called this place, and the men all wore helmets that blocked their minds. It was harmless to the scientists, but for Charles who had been born able to read minds, it was like being placed in an isolation chamber.

To Charles, everyone in the world had died and he was surrounded by faceless puppets, monsters that hurt him without a flicker of thought to latch onto. When the doctors had realized that their new pet telepath was going to wither away and die if they did not do something, they had shoved Charles in a cage next to Erik and had hoped for the best.

He had almost been too far gone, but nestled in the mind of another mutant Charles had finally recovered. The scientists had been ecstatic, and had spent endless hours testing the new bond between them. They had seemed particularly interested in the fact that both of them went nonverbal after the bond had settled, no longer needing their voices when they could pass along thoughts with ease.

Anytime Erik was with Charles the doctors always wore their helmets, strange metal things that burned against Erik’s powers. He couldn’t quite touch them, his powers slipping harmlessly off the metal.

He feels that same metal now, bolted across Charles skull and knows it must be muting his powers, keeping everything quiet, even muffling Erik’s voice. There is something a bit different about it though. He touches at it with his senses, looking as deeply as he can, into the small structures that make up the whole. The metal in the helmets is dense in a way that he can’t quite manipulate, the molecules like a series of triangles trapped in boxes. The metal in Charles head has been mixed with something; a smaller molecule is trapped within the larger ones. Erik can sense the way it offsets the boxes, making them wider and easier to grasp.

_“I might…”_ Erik sends the idea of him pulling the plate out, of the pain it will cause and his uncertainty of if he can or should do it.

_“Please,”_ Charles mental voice has gotten softer. He shifts just enough to look up at Erik, his eyes as impossibly blue as they had been all those years ago. He is still so small, though he thinks Charles might be the age now that Erik was when he was stolen and brought to the Institute. Erik had been eight, he’s pretty sure he is twelve now, but there is no way to tell. 

_“I’ll hurt you,”_ Erik says, but he knows that if he does not remove the plate, Charles might not make it. He had nearly died with no minds to touch, Erik didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was locked inside his own head. 

Charles gives a sharp nod and Erik gets an overwhelming sense of _trust, acceptance, it’ll be okay._

Permission given, Erik closes his eyes and stretches out his metal sense. He has worked at a molecular level before. The scientists had made him melt and blend a variety of metals and alloys to test his fine motor control. Erik had liked those tests, certainly better than the endurance test the pool represented. 

The molecules sing to him, he can feel their slight vibrations within the structure of the plate. Erik releases a pulse of his power, forcing the molecules to vibrate more, shaking within the structure, loosening it, stretching it. The movement of the molecules gets stronger and the bonds holding everything tight starts to weaken. The molecules prefer chaos, and Erik revels in pushing them in that direction. The vibrations stretch the bonds and he can feel the plate loosen and melt. 

He coaxes the melted plate out of the cut, between the staples in Charles’ head. Charles screams, blinding pain lighting across the bond, the tie between them returning to full force as Erik pulls the cursed metal out of him. 

There is a distinct scent of burning flesh, the metal heated from Erik’s manipulations. _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”_ he sends, trying to hurry pulling out the plate, but careful not to cause too much damage. 

Finally, it is done. The metal gathers in his palm, a small floating ball coated in blood. _“Charles, god, Charles,”_ Erik’s heart is still pounding, and he can feel it clench as he looks at the blood seeping from his friend’s head. Two of the staples have torn free. Erik can just see the flash of pale bone beneath the bright red of the blood. 

_“No, don’t worry my friend,”_ Charles sends across a wave of thank you. Erik can feel that he has a horrible headache and the whole left side of his face burns like it is on fire, but the crushing weight that had been digging into his brain is lifted. 

Erik sighs with relief, letting his body collapse against the wall, he feels tired to his bones. 

They must sleep after that because when Erik comes back to himself, the lights have been dimmed and he feels a little better. Along the bond he can feel Charles tugging at him, almost frantic. 

_“Erik! The plate, do you still have it?”_

Erik wakes up sluggishly. He swats the air by his ear as if he can shake Charles out of his head. He is exhausted and has no interest in being awake only for the scientists to drag him back to the hated water. 

_“Erik!”_

Charles insistence, finally makes him sit up. He looks over at his young friend. He’s a mess with his shaved head and the dried blood splattered across his skull and along the left side of his cheek. The jagged scar and pulled staples makes him look deranged. 

_“What Charles?”_ he asks, unable to mask his irritation. 

_“You pulled the plate out, is the metal still here or did they take it when we were sleeping?”_ Charles asks, exasperated. 

The implication is immediately obvious, and Erik calls out with his power. The small ball he had collected rolls out from under the sheet he usually sleeps under. He knows the doctors keep an eye on them, with cameras, but the times they are watched are sporadic and impossible to determine. This time, they have been lucky. 

Erik’s powers are still strained, like a sore muscle that has been overused. _“I’m not sure if I can.”_

_“You can, I’ll help, it might be our only chance Erik.”_ Charles slips along the bond and lends his focus. He isn’t controlling Erik, he is simply there, a steadying presence. Erik takes a deep breath and forces the metal ball to start spinning, faster and faster in his palm. He sends it out like a missile, bouncing wildly in and out of his cage. The volume is probably too loud, but he can’t help it, he can only force it to move faster and faster. In moments, he steps out of the cage, the shattered remains crunching beneath his bare feet. From the outside it is easy enough to unlock Charles cell. They had to use simplistic locks to avoid the use of metal. 

_“Careful,”_ he says, helping Charles up. He is a little unsteady and has to lean against Erik for support. The shattered plastic tears into both their feet, leaving specks of blood as they make their way to the door. The lock is on the outside, but it is metal and Erik flicks it open with a wave of his fingers. 

The hall is quiet, the lights dimmed. _“I don’t sense anyone,”_ though Charles sounds uncertain, knowing that anyone with a helmet would slip right under his guard. 

_“Come on, we’ll go this way.”_ Erik leads them down the long corridor, leaning against one another and limping. He is pretty sure he remembers being dragged down this hall once to test the strength of his power in the hanger. They pass a few labs along the way. There are animals in cages and strange creatures preserved in jars. The sight makes them both shudder. 

They continue at an agonizing pace, both too exhausted and injured to move faster. The threat of being discovered increasing with every moment. Down one hall, beside an enormous metal door that sings along Erik’s senses, Charles stops them. _“Wait, there is...he needs our help.”_ He looks to the door, fingers pressed against his temple in concentration. 

_“Help?! Charles, we can barely help ourselves,”_ Erik scowls. 

_“Please,”_ Charles begs. 

With a wave of his wrist, powers straining, Erik unlocks the door. He’s never been able to say no to Charles. The room beyond the door is tiled from wall to ceiling. The floor is slanted in such a way to lead towards the drains in the center. It looks alot like the room Erik and Charles are shoved into weekly for their cleaning. 

That is where the similarities end, however, the walls are lined with metal instruments, each more wicked than the last. There a massive...chair-like structure in the center of the room and there is a man strapped to it. He is completely naked, making it easy to see the healing cuts along his thigh and side from what looks like knife wounds. There is blood trickling along the still wet floor, intermixed with red chunks that might be tissue, but Erik refuses to look closer. 

The man on the chair is heavily muscled and covered in scars. His left arm appears to have been replaced completely by a metal replica. Erik can feel a series of sturdy bolts securing it to the man’s spine and connecting it to his bone. The chair is mainly metal and has a strange helmet that curls over the man’s head, covering half his face. His wild mane of dark brown hair covers the other half.

_“So much pain, they have done terrible things to this man,”_ Charles sounds close to tears. 

Erik isn’t surprised, he is pretty sure the scientist do terrible things to everyone who is not one of them. Still, he helps Charles limp over to the man. 

They remove the weird helmet and Charles presses his fingers to the man’s temple. Erik can feel Charles focusing his telepathy, wielding it with singular purpose as he enters the stranger's mind. He gets flashes of sensation, great pain and confusion, an iron will and a deadly intent. 

Charles steps back a moment before the man jerks out of the chair, the restraints strain and give with a jerk of his metal arm. He comes awake with wide eyes, darting wildly from side to side as he slips to floor with surprising grace for a man that had been unconscious. 

_“Hello Bucky,”_ Charles greets, his mental voice at its most soothing. 

The man, Bucky, rears back as if struck, staring at Charles with wide eyes. 

“Bucky?” He asks, “Is that my name?” His voice is raspy and softly accented, American, Erik thinks. 

Charles nods. _“I think so, they tried to steal your name, they almost succeeded. It was buried so deep.”_

Erik shivers at the thought. They almost stole his name, before Charles. He had not heard it in so long, had gotten used to being called Experiment X-42. After their three day coma, Charles had whispered into his mind _‘Erik’_ and he had remembered. They made sure to call each other by their names often now, to never forget that they have a name, that they are people. 

_“Would you like to leave?”_ Charles asks. _“We could use your help.”_

“Christ, yeah you do. You’re both just kids. Fucking Hydra,” Bucky curses, his face twisting into a scowl. “Are you talking in my head?” he asks squinting at Charles. 

Erik feels his fingers twitch, he is exhausted, but he is pretty sure if he puts enough power behind it he could yank Bucky’s arm right off his spine. 

_“Yes, I’m a telepath. My name is Charles, this is Erik,”_ he gestures to them, smiling. 

“Of course you are,” Bucky shakes his head. “Come on, I think I remember the way out of here.” He goes over to a metal cabinet in the wall and pulls out a pair of black cargo pants, sturdy black boots, and what appears to be a bulletproof vest. “They took my knives,” he growls, pulling on the gear. He shoves a collection of things from the drawer into his pockets before grabbing some of the surgical knives on the wall and tucking them into places along his belt, pants, and boots. 

When he is dressed and armed, he turns to them and seems to shift into a different person. His back straightens and he holds his body like he is ready to spring into violence at any moment. “Come on,” he gestures at them, voice gruff and accent different. 

_“Who is this?”_ Erik asks.

_“We can trust him,”_ is all Charles offers, and that, Erik supposes, is enough.


	2. Don’t Stop, Keep Moving

## Chapter Two: Don’t Stop, Keep Moving

Bucky, his name is Bucky. Or at least, according to the telepathic kid, his name is Bucky. The name strikes a chord in him, though, and he thinks it is probably the right one. It's certainly better than Soldier or Asset. 

There are other memories the boy had pulled out of him, hazy things that haunt him. He tries to shove them away now, concentrating on the road. Once the kids had got him out of the ‘chair’ it had been easy to get to the hanger and steal a jeep. It had been even easier when the older boy, Erik, had somehow shorted all the cameras while Charles had made the guards at the gate think they had seen nothing at all. 

Their escape isn’t secure yet though, it might never be. They have been on the road for four hours and Bucky has already stopped at a town to ditch the jeep and steal an inconspicuous car to continue the journey. As far as he can tell, the base had been hidden in the tropical forests of Argentina, the nearest town over an hour away. He is intently making his way north now. The boys had had little interest in which direction they headed as long as it was away. 

The kids have obviously been exhausted by the escape, they are both passed out in the back of the car, snoring softly. He knows it is not because they trust him, or at least not from the older one. Whatever Hydra had done to them, and he could only imagine from the massive wound on the side of the little one’s head, it had worn them out. 

The drive is monotonous, he struggles to stay awake himself, but four hours isn’t nearly enough distance from Hydra, so he drives. It isn’t until the ten hour mark, when Bucky has finally made their way into Chile, that the kids wake up. 

_“Where are we?”_ Charles asks, his voice gentle and oddly British in Bucky’s mind. 

“Chile, heading towards Valparaiso. The Pan-American highway is a major road, it might be easier for them to track us, but it is the fastest way to put distance between us and them.” Bucky had debated using the highway, but it was a straight shot north and the traffic along the route would help hide them better than traveling over empty back roads. He isn't sure why, but he knows he needs to head to the U.S. It`s important. 

_“Oh,”_ Charles says in a tone that even mentally shows he has no idea what Bucky is talking about. 

_“We’re in South America?”_ Erik asks, sounding like he has at least some knowledge of geography. 

“Yeah kid,” Bucky huffs, “All the way to the west, along the coast.” 

The kids quiet after that, or at least whatever conversation they are having isn’t being shared with Bucky. He can see them out of the rearview mirror. They are both pressed up against the left window, watching the pinks and oranges unfurl on the horizon. He can’t help but wonder when was the last time they were outside. 

Charles glances at him from the backseat, eyes arresting, Bucky figures he probably caught that thought. ‘Christ, a baby telepath, he’s going to have to watch even his mental language, Steve would be so much better at this,’ he thinks, and then his mind promptly short circuits. “Steve!” He flinches, slamming on the breaks. The cars behind him give a riot of honks. 

_“Bucky!”_ Charles shouts. He climbs half out of the back seat and presses his fingers to his temple. _“You can’t stop here.”_

The car starts moving without Bucky having touched the gas, lurching sluggishly. He is breathing rapidly and feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest, his vision wavers. He thinks he might be having a heart attack. 

_“Bucky, I know how important this is to you, I know that Steve is your most important person, your Erik, but you must keep moving,”_ Charles voice breaks through the mental miasma, a bright light on a foggy shore. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Sorry,” he grunts, putting his foot back on the gas. “I got it,” he says, when the boy hesitates to relinquish control. He can see the metal manipulator with his eyes narrowed and hand outstretched from the backseat. With a scowl, Erik lowers his arm. 

He has to shake his head again, his mind is a mess, like jagged glass scattered along the remains of his conscious, just waiting for him to step on. His mental image of Steve makes no sense. One image is of a small boy, even skinner and rougher looking than Charles, with wisps of white-blond hair and eyes like polished sea-glass. The other image is of a man that is even taller than Bucky, muscles rippling along his arms and back, dressed in a combat suit of red, white, and blue and carrying a shield emblazoned with a star. This man has darker blond hair, but the same sea-glass eyes. He knows, knows, that these images are of the same person, he just doesn’t know how. 

“Steve is important,” he says out loud. It is a stupid thing to say, but he feels it needs saying. He has to remember that. If he remembers nothing else, if all he ever remembers for the rest of his life is that his name is Bucky and that Steve is important, it will be enough. 

_“Yes,”_ Charles agrees, sounding pleased, _“He is.”_

Erik, sounding equal parts exasperated and irritated asks, _“Who the hell is Steve?”_

Bucky hears Charles start to say _“It’s hard to explain,”_ before the conversation peters off to private again. 

He glances back at them from time to time as he continues to drive, but they seem content to ignore him for the time being. Just when they are running low on gas he sees a road sign that brings a hint of a smile to his lips. “Keep a look out boys, we’re about to hit Valparaiso, it's quite the sight.” 

As they climb up a hill that makes their old car wheeze, the city comes into view. He hears twin gasps from the backseat, and gets a wave of emotion, awe and excitement that Charles can’t help projecting. Bucky can’t blame him, the city is amazing. Valparaiso is an explosion of colors; brilliant pinks, greens, reds, and blues highlight the houses that crowd along the hills, leading to an ocean that spreads out like a blanket of sapphires. From this angle they can see the vibrant yellow train cars making their lazy way across the city. 

“Quite a sight,” Bucky grins. He knows he has seen this city at some point. He knew enough to know about the Pan-American highway, and some of the cities along the way, but he is not sure why. Knowing what little he does of his background, Bucky figures it might be best not to. 

_“I never knew such a place existed,”_ Charles cheers, exuberant. 

_“Neither did I,”_ Erik murmurs, his mental voice soft, as if he isn’t sure he wants Bucky to overhear. 

“We’ll stay here for a few hours, I need to rest and we need to gather some supplies. A city this big will help us get lost in the crowds,” Bucky tells them as he exits the highway. He’s so tired, that if they don’t stop soon all Hydra will have to do to collect them is gather their bodies from the inevitable car accident. 

_“I could drive,”_ Erik offers, jaw in a stubborn set. 

The look reminds Bucky of Steve, he can picture the small boy, arms like twigs and so small a breeze would bowl him over, but jaw set and determined, ready to take on anything. He can remember the same look on the man as well, impossible jaw as stubborn as the rest of him. It makes him inexplicably sad. “I’m sure you could with some practice,” Bucky says, and he probably will let the boy practice on an empty stretch of highway, it would be useful. “But like I said, we need supplies and this is a good place.” 

They drive into the touristy part of the city, an area that will help them blend in a bit better. It is still ungodly early and the streets are quiet. Bucky chooses a small hotel that looks like a house. It`s an eye-searing yellow with a teal roof sitting on the side of a hill overlooking the coast. 

They park around the corner, lucky not to run into anyone as they slip into the hotel. Bucky is in his tac gear and the boys are dressed in flimsy hospital gowns. They are uncomfortably thin and covered in cuts and bruises, looking like holocaust victims rescued from Buchenwald, a comparison that is surprisingly bright in Bucky’s mind. 

The college kid running the front desk gives them a double-take before Charles convinces him that he is renting a room to a newly married couple on their honeymoon. The room they are given is small, and oddly angled due to the structure of the house. The bed has an old quilt on it and the walls are papered with a light patterned pink like something from a grandma’s house, but the floors are newly done hardwood and the bathroom is clean white tile and porcelain. It is an interesting mish-mash of styles. 

Bucky grabs a pillow and crashes to the floor, gear and all. “You two can take the bed,” he says curling around his acquisition. 

_“Are you sure?”_ Charles asks, but Bucky is already drifting off. He feels the kid drape a blanket over him, and then he is gone. 

***

Bucky wakes up after six hours, feeling well rested and with the pounding headache he has been ignoring since the kids pulled him off the chair finally reduced to a dull inconvenience. He sits ups, metal and flesh arms creaking, to find the boys curled around each other on the bed, sleeping. He’s surprised they managed to get back to sleep after the car ride, but figures they were probably bored. 

“Hey, boys,” he calls from the side of the bed, very carefully not touching them. 

They both sit up after a moment, moving as one. It`s a little creepy, actually. _“Bucky, morning,”_ Charles greets, even his mental voice is yawning. 

“Morning. I need to get those supplies I talked about, it would be best if you guys stay here, take a shower maybe. You guys look a little rough, especially you Charles,” Bucky says, looking pointedly at the dried blood flaking off Charles face. 

_“You're leaving us here,”_ Erik snarls, and the light overhead flickers. 

“No,” Bucky says, calmly. “I’m going to get supplies. I`ll be back. You guys draw too much attention. Charles can’t affect everyone.” 

Charles places his hand on Erik’s arm. _“He’s telling the truth, he’ll be back. I trust him,”_ he soothes. Bucky gets the impression he is meant to overhear it. 

Erik stares at Charles for a time, scowling before he turns his fierce gaze on Bucky. _“If you leave us, I could track that arm anywhere.”_ Bucky feels an uncomfortable tug on his arm, but finds the sensation more of a comfort than a threat. 

“Kid, if I don’t come back it’s because Hydra has me and you better book it in the opposite direction,” Bucky admits. It may not be something he should actually say to two kids, but Erik seems to appreciate the sentiment, he gives a sharp nod in understanding. 

Bucky manages to leave them in the room mostly soothed. He snatches a windbreaker out of the employee locker room. It barely fits over his vest, but it helps hide his distinctive metal arm. Having Charles to smooth the way has been rather convenient. 

Lucky that his tac vest always contains a wad of cash, he goes to the nearest market and grabs some aspirin, a first aid kit, some snacks, and a few useful miscellaneous items. He finds some touristy clothes for the boys, including some much needed sandals, but has a hell of a time finding a long sleeved shirt and some gloves to hide his arm. He ends up finding an old leather, motorcycle jacket and some riding gloves that do the trick. The leather is an unusual dark blue, heavily distressed from age. It fits his broad shoulders perfectly and brings a tinge of memory that he can’t quite grasp. 

When he comes back to the hotel, the boys are sitting sheepishly on the bed and very obviously not looking at the bathroom. Bucky pokes his head in to find the tile floor damp and littered with wet towels. The shower head has a suspicious kink to it that suggests it had been crushed and then straightened back out. Bucky gives the boys a questioning look, brow quirked. 

Erik twitches, but it is Charles that answers. _“Erik doesn’t like water,”_ he says plainly, like that explains everything. 

Bucky decides not to ask. “I got a few changes of clothes,” he offers instead. 

The kids dig through the stash excitedly. They have zero modesty, stripping right there and tugging on their new things. Charles pants are loose and a little long so he has to roll them up to show his pale feet. Erik’s shirt hangs off him like a sack, but they both look pleased. 

“Let’s see if we can clean that cut a bit better,” Bucky says holding out the first aid kit. It looks better from whatever they did in the bathroom, the blood cleaned off, and the loose staples removed, but it needs to be bandaged. 

_“I’ll do it,"_ Erik snaps, standing in front of Charles like he is going to fight Bucky. 

Picking his battles, Bucky hands him the kit and leaves them to it. He changes into his own, new wardrobe, retreating into the bathroom for privacy. The tan cargo pants he found fit well, though the Valparaiso tourist shirt he grabbed strains across his chest. His hair is too long, and distinctive, but he’s noticed some longer men’s styles while he was out. He buzzes the sides with a pair of clippers he purchased, but keeps the top long, gathering it into a knot on the top of his head. He also pulls a pair of fake glasses he found in the bargain bin on and takes a look in the mirror. He looks ridiculous with his hair pulled up, clunky glasses, and leather jacket over his too tight shirt, but he looks nothing like the Winter Soldier, and that is rather the point. 

When he comes out of the bathroom Charles has an ace bandage wrapped around his head, a bit of gauze peaking out of the edges where the cut is. Erik is glaring at Bucky in challenge. 

“You two hungry? We’ll grab a bite then we need to head out.” They take to Bucky’s suggestion with enthusiasm so they go down to the Hotel’s restaurant. It is an inside/outside place with obnoxious white and black checkerboard floors that Charles seems to adore. 

They eat inside because it is too risky out in the open, but close enough to the large windows to enjoy the sprawling view. Bucky orders for them in accented spanish and they all eat a hearty bowl of cazuela de vacuno with huge chunks of bread to soak up the gravy. They make a mess collecting bits of beef and vegetables on the bread. There are actually whole cobs of corn in the soup that the boys manage to eat with some trial and error. 

Bucky grabs some empanadas to eat on the road before they head out. They drive their car to a shady part of town, so he can steal another, ditching their own in a busy parking lot. It is late afternoon by the time they make their way out of Valparaiso, the city a colorful streak in the back window. 

The next major city is Antofagasta, over fourteen hours away, but Bucky is fed and well rested. He could go for a couple of days now. Around the seventh hour, after they’ve eaten the empanadas, cold and greasy, but still delicious, he offers Erik the chance to drive. It is dark now and the highway is quieter, only a few cars and eighteen-wheelers moving in the night. 

“I’ll take my foot off the gas and my hands off the wheel, I just want you to keep it going around the same speed and in the right lane,” Bucky directs. 

Erik has crawled into the passenger seat, so he can get a better look at the road. Charles in the back, but sitting in the middle seat so he can peer over their shoulders. _“Alright, I’m ready,”_ Erik gives a tight nod. 

Bucky slowly lifts his hands and feet away. The car starts to slow, then gives a jerk as Erik presses his hand to the dash, fingers spread. The old chevy revs and the car picks up speed before the engine goes quiet. There is only the hum of the tires on the pavement. The car drifts left and right for a while, but stays in the lines. Bucky figures from behind it probably looks like a drunk is driving. 

It takes Erik some time to get the speed right, shifting drastically between 60 to 90, but finally he evens out around 80 and they are speeding silently along. It takes Bucky a moment to realize the engine is no longer running. “Are you even using the gas?” he asks curious. 

Erik shrugs, _"I don’t think so, I don’t need it.”_

Bucky can’t help but be amazed by his luck. He has only the vaguest hint of his past, but Bucky is pretty sure his luck has been absolute shit until two half-starved kids broke him out of hell. Two half-starved kids with very useful mutations. From the back seat, Charles laughs, and the car continues to rocket along through the night. 

Erik keeps the car going for an impressive five hours, not even touching the fuel gage, before he gets tired and Bucky takes over. They barely pause in Antofagasta, stopping long enough to grab some more food before continuing on, Peru in their sights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been to South America, but with all the research I did on the Pan-American Highway now my computer keeps throwing vacation offers at me.


	3. Lightning Shot Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make it to Lima, Peru, but things get a little rocky.

## Chapter Three: Lightning Shot Down

Charles doesn’t remember much before the Institute. He had parents once, he thinks. He remembers a woman with light hair that may have been his mother, but he doesn’t remember her ever holding him, never a hug or a warm thought. She had been cold, indifferent. There had been a man, maybe his father, with dark hair and a trim beard. He remembers the man had been afraid of him. There had been so much fear. The man had tucked a teddy in Charles’ arms like an offering, it had been brown and soft with big button eyes. Charles remembers teddy better than he remembers his possible parents.

The doctors at the Institute had taken him, dressed in their white-coats, with minds like oil slicks. They had stolen away his teddy and he remembers crying, screaming at them until he had forced them to give it back. He remembers them being pleased at that even as he felt their fear of him, of his powers. 

He had been knocked out after that, and when he woke up he was in a cold white room surrounded by puppets in white coats and helmets. He would later learn that they weren’t puppets. The helmets blocked his telepathy and without minds to touch a person seemed dead to him. Everything was fuzzy after that, until Erik. Erik! With his mind like a beacon, his saving grace in a living hell. 

So Charles understands what it is like to have memory problems, but he does not think the gaps in his memory are anything like the chasms in Bucky’s. The man they rescued from the Institute, the soldier, has a mind like a spider web, only the thinnest of strands holding the fraying edges together. 

It's strange to touch a mind so blank. His mind only has impressions of memories, certain thoughts held to with a vice grip. Memories like Steve. Bucky clings to the name like a dying man at the edge of a cliff. He only has vague knowledge of who, exactly, Steve is, but his importance shines. 

Charles basks in the glow of that feeling, so similar to his own impressions of Erik. So he convinces Erik to help free him and tells him they can trust him. It works to their benefit. Bucky leads them out of the Institute, knows where they are, and sets a plan. Even Erik admits, grudgingly and after they reach Valparaiso, that they wouldn’t have made it so far without him. They may never have gotten out at all without Bucky’s experience. 

Now, a half-hour out of Lima, Erik’s distrust of the man has shifted to a grudging reliance. “ _Told you we could trust him_ ,” Charles can’t help but pointing out from the back seat. 

Erik is still in the passenger seat, making it easier to take control of the car when Bucky lets him practice, or to save on gas. “ _Yes Charles_ ,” Erik grumbles, but Charles can feel his pleased relief along the bond.

“ _Do you think we’re far enough away?_ ” Charles asks. 

Erik tries to hold back his worry, but it slips through. “ _I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll ever be far enough away,_ ” he admits. 

“ _We’ll keep each other safe, Bucky knows what he’s doing_ ,” Charles sends calm and hope. 

Erik shifts his body so he can look at Charles around the seat. “ _How can you be so sure?_ ”

Charles grins, “ _I have faith._ ” 

Bucky shoots them a curious look, Charles can feel the question in his mind, but he stays silent, letting them have their moment. Charles is grateful for that. 

They get into Lima around 8 o’clock. The sun has mostly set, but Lima is a massive city that bathes the night in multicolored lights. The skyline is filled with buildings, giant glass structures like nothing Charles has ever seen. He can feel a mirror of awe in Erik, but also rage, a burning fury at the Institute for stealing this away from them for so long. 

“ _Calm, Erik,_ ” Charles sends, “ _We are free now._ ” 

“We’ll find another hotel for the night, it’ll be good to stretch our legs and sleep on a real bed,” Bucky tells them. They find a hotel in the business district, this one a giant grey rectangle with windows backlit in purple. It's beautiful against the fading night sky. 

They walk in like they belong this time, finally wearing real clothes. A Dodgers baseball cap Bucky stole from a group of tourists covers Charles’ bandaged head. The lobby is very modern, white tile floors leading to stark white desks accented by wood paneling. There are groupings of art deco chairs and couches that lead up to the check-in desk, with a bar to the right that darkens into coppery-wood flooring and a bizarre red and brown patterned wallpaper. It's like a clash of two competing eras. 

“Hi, my family and I would like to check in,” Bucky greets with a slick grin. He leans against the counter with an easy slouch. 

Charles can feel the annoyance from the concierge. The woman is in her early twenties and spent the night before trying to get her colicky baby to sleep. She speaks perfect English, but gets irritated by the endless flux of businessmen and tourists that don’t even try to speak her language. Which is funny, because Bucky actually speaks fluent Spanish in a couple of different dialects, but the point is to be inconspicuous. 

It doesn’t matter either way, because Charles slips into her mind with ease. She is tired and doesn’t have anything like mental shields. He convinces her that they are actually a young family, a man and wife with a baby and a toddler, and they’ve had this room booked and paid for weeks in advance. She gives them two keys and wishes them a pleasant stay with a dazed smile. 

The room they get is much larger than the one from Valparaiso. This one has two queen beds and a very modern, dark grey couch. The bathroom is spacious and boasts a glass shower that sparks a hint of fear and shame from Erik. 

Bucky showers first, just in case Erik decides to crush another shower head. He says none of this out loud, which Charles appreciates. He can tell that Bucky has his own issues with water. In the Institute they had never tested him with it like they did Erik, but after every mission they had hosed him down with freezing cold water, like washing a dirty floor. Now Bucky showers with the water as hot as possible, the steam filling the room and curling under the door. 

“ _This is stupid,_ ” Erik says when they enter the bathroom together. “ _It's a shower, I was never like this...before._ ” 

Charles knows what he means. Before they used to get weekly showers and even after Erik had started the endurance testing, he hadn’t really minded, of course then the shower head had been plastic. “ _It isn’t stupid, I wouldn’t want water pouring over my face either if they’d done that to me._ ” Charles testing had always been mental, endless tests with electrodes attached to his head. They’d put him in extreme heat and cold, and had even cut him to watch his brain waves jump, but they never drowned him. “ _Would a bath be better?_ ” He asks, unsure. 

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Erik admits, so they give it a try. 

They stopper the tub, and fill it slowly, taking a page out of Bucky’s book and keeping the water hot. They only fill it about halfway before Erik steps into it. It is only ankle deep, and Charles can feel his hesitance and frustration, before he stubbornly plops down into the water, jaw set like he’s spoiling for a fight. 

Charles gives him an encouraging grin and joins him, sitting at the other side of the tub. They wash off with the hotel’s bars of soap and fluffy wash cloths. The shampoo smells like lemons, but Charles only has fuzz for hair and doesn’t want to get his bandage wet. Erik’s hair is only about an inch longer, but he scrubs the short strands and carefully scoops water over his head until there are no more suds left. Charles can tell that he is doing it just to make himself endure the sensation, but he doesn’t comment. 

They dry off with giant, blanket-like towels before slipping back into their boxers. Bucky hadn’t bothered with sleep clothes before, it had been the last thing on his mind when he made the supply run. They don’t mind, slipping under the cool sheets of the large bed and falling into a restful sleep, Charles guarding the dreams of his companions. 

They’ve been asleep a few hours when Charles bolts awake. “ _Bucky!_ ” He sends a mental shout. 

Bucky jumps out of the second bed, falling to the floor with a knife in his hand. Erik jolts awake as well, sitting up beside Charles. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, scanning the room. The heavy curtains keep the room dark, but it is obvious that it is still dark outside. 

“ _I’m not sure,_ ” Charles admits, but he knows something is wrong. 

“ _Guns_ ,” Erik says, and Charles can feel his powers furling outward, stretching to sense every fleck of metal in the hotel. “ _There are guns coming our way, rifles, ten no twelve of them._ ” 

“Fucking Hydra,” Bucky curses. He grabs his tac gear from the floor, pulling on his vest and cargo pants. “How close?”

Charles and Erik follow suit, slipping into their clothes and sandals, they won’t offer much protection from bullets, but it's better than running around half naked. “ _Our floor, coming up the stairs,_ ” Erik answers. 

Charles stretches out his mind, but they must have the same blocking helmets as the scientists. From the first floor he can tell the bartender is hiding in the kitchen, petrified because he saw the soldiers in black kill the only desk clerk on duty. The death must have been what woke Charles up. 

“Shit, knew I should have picked a place with rooms on the first floor,” Bucky snarls as he pulls back the curtains, the purple lights on the window invading the room. They’re on the second floor, overlooking the pool. “You’re not going to like this,” Bucky says, punching out the window with his metal arm. 

The sound of the window breaking must draw attention, because they can all hear the shouts from down the hall. “Shit,” Bucky growls and grabs Erik by the back of his shirt. “Sorry Buddy,” he says, and tosses him out the window. 

“ _Erik!_ ” Charles shouts, running to the window. Erik, is fine, though radiating burning anger, as he struggles out of the pool. Charles has a moment to breath a sigh of relief, before Bucky shoves him out the window, following a moment behind. 

“ _You...you,_ ” Erik can’t even form the thoughts, he’s so angry. His arm is shaking as he helps pull Charles out of the water. 

“Told you, you wouldn’t like it,” Bucky says, uncaring as he pulls himself out. He’s dripping water all over, his hair plastered in a wild mess over his face. “Come on, you can be pissed at me later,” Bucky picks them both up, placing them under his arms like two squirming packages and takes off across the yard. 

There is a series of sharp cracks from behind them, shots being fired, Charles can’t help but shaking, hating that he can’t see what’s happening and glad for it all the same. He can feel Erik using his power, curving the bullets away from them. 

Bucky drops them behind a car down the street, placing them so they are crouched behind one of the wheels. “We won’t be able to outrun them, I’m going to have to stop them. Can you cover me?” Bucky asks, turning to Erik. 

Charles can feel how nervous he is, but can also feel his steel resolve as he gives Bucky a sharp nod.

“Stay back here boys, and if I go down you run, you understand,” Bucky’s gaze is searing. “I go down, and you fucking run, don’t look back.” 

Neither Charles nor Erik nod in agreement, but Bucky takes off, bolting over the car with ease. “ _He’s mad,_ ” Erik says, peering through the window so he can better push the bullets away from Bucky. 

There are two men shooting from the window they jumped out of. The rest are coming out the front door. They are dressed in black tac gear similar to Bucky’s but they are all wearing helmets, and have a red mark on their shoulders that Charles can’t identify from so far away. 

Bucky makes his way back across the road at a slouch, using the hotel’s various retaining walls for cover. The potted plants lining the drive explode with dirt and shrubbery as Erik directs the bullets away from Bucky. 

“ _There are so many_ ,” Erik growls, sweat beading at his brow. 

Charles knows Erik has only stopped bullets a few times, the scientists only testing him until the time Erik curved a bullet and almost shot one of them. “ _Can you move the helmets? Like you moved the plate?_ ” Charles asks. If Erik can get those helmets off, than Charles can help, can make them stop. 

“ _I don’t know, the metal is denser than the plate,_ ” Erik admits. 

On the street, Bucky reaches the first soldier. Bucky doesn’t have a gun, but he has a large hunting knife he wields like an extension of his metal arm. He pushes the soldier’s gun away, before sweeping the knife in a wide arch, severing the man’s carotid and leaving a gaping hole in his neck with a gush of blood. 

He moves with swift grace, like the steps of a dance. Bucky pulls the gun into his arms, turning on the soldier. His shots are true, Erik doesn’t have the concentration to guide them. He takes out six of the soldiers coming at him before his gun jams. 

One of the soldiers, realizing Erik’s involvement, abandons his gun to throw a knife in Bucky’s direction. The knife is deadly sharp and ceramic, Bucky doesn’t notice it until it slides through his vest and grazes across his ribs in a flare of pain. He snarls, yanking the blade from his side and tossing it back at the man, burying it in his neck. 

“ _Erik, please the helmets,_ ” Charles begs, when a stray bullet escapes Erik’s guard, leaving a red trail across Bucky’s flesh arm. 

Gritting his teeth, Erik sends out a desperate, “ _Help me!_ ” 

Charles slips into the part of Erik’s mind that controls his power. It is still foreign to Charles, Erik’s power so different from his own. His sense of metal sings, each piece carrying its own tune. The helmets have low thrum, like the bellow of a tuba, Charles can tell that while Erik may be able to shift them he won’t be able to do much else. What he can feel, though, is the sharp cry of the metal buckles attaching the helmets around the men’s chin. 

“ _Oh,_ ” he feels Erik give a shark-like grin when Charles draws his attention to the clip. “ _That'll work._ ” Erik seizes the clips with his powers and gives a sharp tug, tumbling their helmets to ground with a series of thunks. 

Charles doesn’t hesitate. He takes the five remaining minds and grabs them. “ _Stop!_ ” He commands, and they do. He can feel the soldiers fighting his hold, their fear as his foreign presence moves into their mind. “ _Calm,_ ” he tells them. Adrenaline runs through their veins and they struggle against him, like flies caught in a web. 

Charles bites into his bottom lip, tearing the tender flesh and tasting copper blood against his tongue. His head is pounding with the strain of holding down five fighting minds. He’s never done anything like this before. “ _Stop!_ ” He commands them again, forcing his will onto them. Their struggles lessen, growing slower, becoming sluggish, and then they stop. Five bolts of light shoot through Charles head, sparking across his senses like a short in a wire. Five bodies hit the ground and the street grows quite. In the distance sirens roar to life. 

“ _What did you do?_ ” Erik asks, turning to Charles. He looks stunned. 

Charles can’t imagine what he must look like, he can feel how wide his eyes are, and the tears burning across his cheeks. “ _I think I killed them,_ ” he says, and then the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far. I'm always excited when Mondays roll around and I get to post a new chapter. Hope you enjoy.


	4. Not Without a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger awaits at the Panama Canal

## Chapter Four: Not Without a Fight

Bucky gets them out of Lima. Erik hates to admit it, but he’s mostly useless. His head is pounding, though he can’t tell if it is because of the over use of his powers or something he is getting from Charles. Either way, Bucky ended up grabbing a gun, as much ammo as he can shove in his pockets, and a new set of knives, before bolting over the car and slinging and unconscious Charles over his good shoulder.

They steal another car, and in moments Bucky has them back on the highway, speeding north. They barely avoid the police, but the authorities are more concerned by the twelve dead bodies littering the hotel lawn. Erik can only imagine what they will think of the five bodies without a single wound. 

“You two alright?” Bucky asks from the front seat. Erik can see he keeps checking the rearview mirror, though whether he is checking on them or looking to see if they’re being followed, he’s not sure. 

Erik has already checked Charles over. His bandage had gotten wet, so Erik had to take it off to let the wound dry. The scar is red, but not inflamed, and as far as Erik can tell, Charles is unharmed. Erik, himself, doesn’t have a mark on him, but he can’t stop shaking, his hands are twitching so bad he has to sit on them to keep them still. He gives a hesitant nod of his head, he guesses they’re okay, relatively. He can’t communicate well with Bucky, not with Charles passed out. 

Bucky seems to understand all the same. “It`s alright kid,” he says, gruffly, “you did good.” 

Erik lets himself sink into the back seat with a sigh. He’d never tell, not under threat of death, but he feels a little better. He doesn’t sleep, he’s still too riled from the fight and flee, but Erik lets his head rest against the cool window and watches the road zip by. 

He stays like that for hours. Bucky only pulls the car over long enough to fill up with gas and grab another first aid kit, before they are off again. It takes almost a whole day to get to Ecuador and even longer to get to Quito, a large city nestled almost in the center of the country. In all that time Charles hasn’t woken and Erik is beyond worried. 

“He’ll be fine,” Bucky tells him, “Kid is tough as nails, he just needs to recuperate. Dropping five guys would wear anyone out.” 

Erik figures he probably has a point, but when Charles groans and starts to move just outside Quito, he feels a lot better. “ _Charles!_ ” He calls, trying to soften his projection at the last moment, when he gets the mirrored throb of Charles headache. 

Charles sits up slowly, his arms shaking like it's a strain. “ _Erik?_ ” his mental voice is tentative, like he`s tapping on a door. 

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” Erik asks. He can sense his fatigue and the headache, but their bond is being muffled, it is disturbingly similar to how it felt when Charles had the plate in his head. 

“ _Tired, hurts,”_ Charles murmurs. He maneuvers his body so he is slumped against the middle seat, his head lolling on the headrest so he can look at Erik with half lidded eyes. 

“ _Well rest your head in my lap, stretch out a bit,_ ” Erik says, tugging gently at Charles arm to encourage him into a more comfortable condition. 

Charles resists the pull, shaking his head against the seat. “ _Erik...I...I killed five people_ ,” his mental voice is a gasp, like he is being hollowed out, the admission dragged from him. 

Erik, unsure how to proceed under the shear force of Charles devastation, says, rather stupidly, “ _So?_ ” His brow quirks curiously, Erik really isn’t sure why Charles sounds so upset. “ _They were from the Institute, they deserved it._ ” 

“ _Did they?_ ” Charles asks, opening his eyes further so Erik feels trapped under the full force of his gaze. 

“ _Of course,_ ” Erik says, firm in his conviction. The men were either going to kill them or take them back, and Erik would have killed every last one of them to keep from ever going back to the plastic cage. He sends his certainty to Charles, his absolute knowledge that it was us or them. 

“Listen Kid,” Bucky says from the front seat, startling Erik, because he hadn’t realized Charles was sharing the conversation. “I’ve killed a lot of people, a lot of people. Some of them deserved it, some of them didn’t. I don’t know if we have the right to pick, you know, if we can just say who lives and who dies because we were the better shot, or the...er stronger telepath. In the end, though, if it's them or you or your loved ones, sometimes you gotta make the hard decisions. I hate to say it, cause you’re too damn young to be contemplating those sorta things, but that’s the way the world is.” Bucky takes the time to turn around and look at Charles, let the full strength of his words settle over them, before he has to turn back to the road. 

Charles stares at the back of Bucky’s head, his eyes suspiciously wet. “ _Thank you_ ,” he sends, and Erik is almost bowled over by the strength of his projected gratitude. Charles finally relaxes his posture, letting himself flop over across the seat and settle into Erik’s lap. 

Erik runs his hand soothingly over Charles head, fine little hairs have started to crop up along his scalp and they tickle along the pads of his fingers. Erik has to tamp down on the surge of emotions burbling in his chest. He can’t quite put a name to them, the feelings that clench around his heart. He only knows that it is an uncomfortable feeling, the knowledge that Bucky, who has only known them a few days, could calm Charles down when Erik could not. 

Charles floats in and out of consciousness for a long time. Erik is only aware of every time he wakes up because of their bond. Charles is still tapping at the link like he is afraid he isn’t welcome, but the devastating grief and guilt of before has dulled. Erik manages to get a bottle of water and some aspirin in him, but his headache seems unaffected. Apparently, aspirin doesn’t cover overtaxed telepathic headaches. 

The rest of the time he spends looking out the window, watching the ocean disappear and reappear as the highway snakes through the countryside. The scenery is beautiful, lush green trees and flowers in a riot of colors giving way to massive cities filled with looming skyscrapers and a stretch of small towns in between, but Erik can only stare out the window for so long. He’s not sure how many times he wakes up when they hit a bump and his head knocks against the window. He always wakes embarrassed, wiping drool from his chin and hoping Bucky didn’t notice. 

At one point he pantomimes an offer to drive the car after Bucky has to stop for gas again, but the man waves him off. Telling him to rest why he can. 

Erik is irritated by the dismissal, but he knows he needs the rest. He has been using his powers more since they escaped then he ever has. Well, that isn’t true, he used his powers all the time for tests at the institute, but it was always the same test over and over again for weeks until they collected the data they wanted and then it would be something else. Now, though, he`s used his powers in a variety of different ways in a very short period of time and he can feel the ache to his bones. He’s done things in the last week he didn’t even know he could do. 

Resigned, he falls into a pattern of sleeping and staring blankly out the window in between worrying about Charles. After a day has passed in the car and Charles hasn’t done much more than shift positions, he scribbles out a question for Bucky using a napkin and a pen he found in the glove box. He hasn’t written anything in years so his handwriting and spelling are terrible. What should be “Where are we going?” looks more like “Were r going?”, but Bucky gets the point.

“Panama, the Panama canal particularly, that’s why I want you rested,” Bucky answers after he looks at the napkin. 

Erik tilts his head, in a way he hopes looks questioning. 

“If Hydra has been tracking us since the start, then they know we’re going north. They can probably guess that I’m trying to get us to the U.S. Unfortunately, the only way to get from South America to North America, without using a boat or a plane is the Panama canal. It`s a bottleneck. They’ll be waiting.” Bucky’s hands clench around the steering wheel, it gives a groan of protest under his metal fingers. 

Erik scribbles another note, “Y not somwere els?”

Bucky stares at it for a long moment, before heaving a sigh and running his hand through his messy hair. “I shouldn’t drag you two into this, but I can’t really leave you behind, either. If I know they’re gonna be there, though, I can be ready. We can be ready.” He glances back at Erik, “We’ll stop outside of the city and prep, hopefully Charles will be feeling better.” 

Erik can understand the sentiment. Knowing a fight is coming always makes it easier. He hated sitting in that plastic cage and not knowing when he was going to be dragged out for more ‘testing’. He agrees with Bucky on this one, he’d rather know. He gives a sharp nod, hoping it conveys his feelings on the matter. He sends a similar trail of thought across the bond to Charles, and hopes he’ll be ready too. 

They end up stopping at an abandoned warehouse just outside Panama city. The concrete is crumbling and most of the windows are broken, there are vines growing up the walls and inching across the metal roof. It looks like the sort of place you might bunk down in after a nuclear winter. Erik gives Bucky a dubious look. 

Bucky shrugs. “Good a place as any.” 

“ _Charles, get up Charles,_ ” Erik calls, hoping to get his friend out of the car under his own power. 

Charles mind struggles away from waking like a cat shying from a bath, but he eventually gives a groan, coming to wakefulness with a jaw cracking yawn and a stretch of his arms. “ _Erik,_ ” even his mental voice is yawning. 

“ _Hey sleepy head, Bucky wants us to get ready,_ ” Erik tells him. 

“ _Ready? Ready how?_ ” 

Bucky’s version of getting ready involves them all stretching and then running a few laps around the building. The laps do nothing for training, he explains, but is a good way to work out the stiffness in their legs from sitting a car for about a week. It also helps wake Charles up. His headache has petered off and he’s bright-eyed and functioning after the first lap. 

Then he shows them the guns. On the way through Colombia, Bucky had stopped at a few places and Erik hadn’t questioned the new bits of metal that had found their way into the trunk and passenger seat. Bucky’s acquisitions, including what he took off the soldiers, contains a sniper rifle, an assault rifle, and three handguns. 

“This is an M9 handgun,” Bucky says, and then hands one to Erik. 

Erik’s not sure what to do with the thing. The metal sings pleasantly in his hands. He can feel the inner workings of the machine, the coiled springs and the firing pin. He can feel the 15 tiny bullets tucked away in the magazine. They seem so very small and the rounds have no intent, there is no darkness in the metal, only the inherit design to move very quickly. 

“I’m not too worried about you using this, you come with your own built-in safety so I know you won’t shoot yourself, or any of us, in the face,” Bucky says with a wry quirk of his lips. He turns to Charles with another M9, “You on the other hand, are going to need some pointers.” 

The gun looks ridiculous in Charles hands, it’s massive and Erik’s worried his wrists will snap if he actually fires the thing. Charles looks even more uncertain, holding the gun out in front of him like it will fire of it’s own will. 

“You can’t be afraid of it Charles, it is only a tool. One I hope you never have to use, but I don’t want to leave you or Erik defenseless and if they have those helmets your telepathy won’t work,” Bucky says, taking a knee beside Charles and placing a warm hand on his back. It is, Erik realizes, the first time he has called them by their names. 

“ _I don’t want to shoot anyone,_ ” Charles whispers, looking down at the gun with watery eyes. 

“I know,” Bucky says, and then proceeds to show Charles how to use it. They aim at a hill behind the building. It’s big enough and wide enough to stop any shots and the area behind it is empty forest. He shows Charles how to hold the gun, gripping it tightly enough so the recoil shouldn’t throw him all over the place, but not so tight he’ll actually break his wrists. He also shows Charles how to aim. Erik watches curiously as he explains how the notched bit on the back of the gun lines up to the piece on the end of the muzzle and how it helps aim. 

Finally, he sits a crumpled soda can on a concrete block in front of the hill and tells him to hit it. Charles takes his time, going through the checks Bucky showed him and clicking off the safety. The sound of the round chambering is oddly unnerving, and Erik can feel Charles’ mental flinch. He looks so focused, tongue just peeking from the corner of his mouth as he stares down the sight. So slow he might as well be moving through sand, Charles pulls the trigger. 

Erik resists the urge to manipulate the bullet. The projectile lights across his senses like a comet, he follows the trajectory and they are all surprised when the bullet strikes the edge of the can with a ping. 

“Good job,” Bucky says, and Erik can tell he means it. 

Charles seems emotionally conflicted, but Erik can feel his pride all the same. He shoots three more times, and on the last two hits the center of the can. Bucky watches with a look on his face like he can’t quite decide how he should feel about the whole thing. He shakes it off by the last shot, but he goes on to tell Charles the best places to shoot someone that will incapacitate, but not kill them. They both look like they feel better after that. 

Erik’s gun training goes a bit differently. Bucky stands in front of him with a handful of crushed soda cans. The object is for Erik to shoot the gun at Bucky, but curve the bullet to hit the cans as he throws them in the air. He’s so nervous that the first time he shoots the gun he curves the bullet to the point it hits the building behind him. 

Bucky coughs, in a maneuver that looks suspiciously like hiding a laugh before he tells Erik to fire again. The second time he manages to curve the bullet and hit the edge of the can. The third, fourth, and fifth time he hits the center of the can, finally getting a feel for the trajectory of the bullet and speed of the thrown can. 

“Good, good,” Bucky says with a nod. He shows them both how to take the guns apart, clean them, and put them back together again. The scent of gun oil lingers, clinging to their clothes and hands. They don’t have holsters, but Bucky rigs together makeshift ones that hides the guns in the small of their backs beneath their too large t-shirts. 

They get back in the car after Bucky secretes his own stash of weapons about his person. Then they are off, heading for the Bridge of the Americas. There is construction along the way, the building of a new bridge across the canal. It halts traffic and they have to move across the bridge at a glacial pace. The tension in the car is palpable. Erik finds himself repeatedly running his metal sense over the gun pressed against his back. He can’t even take comfort in the bridge, the massive metal structure that curves in a beautiful arch over the road. 

When they finally make it to the other side of the bridge untouched, if anything, the tension gets worse. Erik can feel the strain it’s putting on Charles, his telepathy prickly and agitated all along the bond. 

The city on the other side of the bridge is sprawling, unlike the cities squashed along the mountainous coast, this one is spread out. Office buildings peek out between lush groves of trees and tropical plants. They are passing over a small bridge in a patch of greenery when the street explodes. 

Erik is thrown against the far window, his head smacking into the glass hard enough to send stars across his vision. The car tumbles end over end, and they get thrown around with it until Erik comes to his senses and magnetizes himself to the roof of the car. He pins Charles beneath him, trying to protect him from the violent crash.

When the car finally comes to a stop it’s with a deafening splash as they roll into the river they had been driving over. Erik hears Bucky curse, a steady stream of “Shit, shit, damnit,” from the front of the car. They’ve landed hood first in the water, the trunk tilted up in the air. From where he is, Erik can see the water rushing through the cracked windshield and it stops him dead. 

His heart, which had been pounding, now feels like a heavy weight in his chest, in fact, it feels just like a massive steel block pushing him down. He’s breathing rapidly, but he can’t seem to get any air. 

“Climb out the back,” Bucky yells as the water pours in. He climbs up the seats into the back, his metal hand easily punching the back window out. “Erik!” Bucky shouts when he doesn’t move. 

There is shouting in his mind and shouting in his ears, Erik can feel Charles pushing against his shoulders, trying to move him. Erik wants to move, he does, but he can’t think. His mind is white static, because he is surrounded by metal and there is water rushing over his feet. 

Bucky wraps his metal arm around Erik`s torso and tugs. At first he doesn’t go with him, his hands are still magnetized to the roof, and it gives a horrible screech as the roof caves with the strength of his pull, but at the second tug Erik releases his grip and let’s himself be pulled out of the car. Charles follows close behind, climbing out the back window and falling into the warm water with a splash. 

It’s the warmth that shakes Erik out of it. The tributary they’ve landed in is warm like bathwater, nothing like the freezing cold water of the lab. Bucky lets him swim on his own once the man seems certain he won’t freeze up again. Erik is a strong swimmer and trends water with ease, much better than Charles, who bobs after them in a sort of drunk man’s, dog paddle. 

They make it to shore without issue, Bucky helping to pull Erik and Charles up the steep rocks. “ _Where are they?_ ” Erik asks after he is back on solid earth. He extends his metal sense, but doesn’t detect any of the body armor or metal helmets that he did on the last group that attacked them. 

Bucky doesn’t answer him, instead he pulls his gun from his holster, shaking it to remove some of the water dripping out of it. “Good,” he mumbles, pulling out the magazine to check the rounds before slotting it back into place with a click. 

“ _They’re coming this way, over the hill,_ ” Charles says stepping behind Bucky. 

Erik can feel the sharp pulse of fear Charles is sending out. “ _What is it?_ ”

Charles eyes are wide, his breathing short and stuttered when he turns to Erik. “ _They’re like us._ ”

“Shit, stay behind me boys,” Bucky tells them, pulling both of them to cover behind some of the bigger rocks along the shore. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a voice sing songs just before 5 figures appear over the hill. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He fires five shots, but the moment the first bullet hits, the figures shimmer away like a mirage. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice,” someone says from behind them. They spin and the five people are just there, a few feet away. A little ahead of the other four is a middle-aged man with dark hair and a carefully groomed goatee. He is dressed in a brown trenchcoat over a three piece suit. He doesn’t appear to be carrying any weapons. 

“ _I can’t touch him, he’s blocking my powers_ ,” Charles gasps. 

“Oh, little telepath, did you think you and your feral metal bender were the only ones?” The man grins, ”The good doctors did not realize all of the benefits of getting two powerful mutants so young, but we’ll put that to rights very soon. Our boss was quite interested to meet you when word of what you did to those human soldiers got out.” 

Erik isn’t actually surprised that there are more with powers like him and Charles, but he is surprised to see five of them. All apparently working for the organization Bucky calls Hydra. Besides the man speaking, there are two boys that look around 15, one looks relatively normal, despite his fiery red hair, but the other has red skin and a forked tail. He looks like a demon. Beside the boys is a man older than the one speaking, he has light brown hair and a big bushy beard that makes it hard to tell how old he actually is. The last mutant looks to be in his twenties, he has dark curly hair and tanned skin, he looks a lot the locals they’ve seen. 

“Enough of this Mastermind,” the older man says, “let us get this over with.” He raises his hands and then Erik feels like his body is being compacted, he falls to his knees. He can’t turn his head but from the corner of his eyes he can see that Bucky and Charles have both fallen as well. 

It is a horrible feeling, like being crushed by the steel block, but this time there is no water to cushion the blow. Out of pure habit he pushes back with his power. He pushes against the nothing holding him down, his power flaring out in ever lengthening waves. His power snags on something and he forces it away with everything he is, a second later the weight lifts. 

He gets to his feet, legs shaking, to find that he has pushed the older man far enough to fling him into a tree. In his desperation Erik had latched onto to the metal in the man’s clothing and knocked him out in the process. Erik can’t help his grin as he focuses his powers again, pulling his handgun from its makeshift holster. 

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that kiddo,” the redhead chuckles. He pulls a light from his pocket and with a flick of his wrist has a fireball curling around his palm. He throws the flame at Erik, but Bucky is there in a moment metal arm curled in front of him to absorb the blow. “Move,” he growls, shoving Erik in the opposite direction. 

Erik doesn’t hesitate, he sprints in the direction he was pushed, pulling Charles with him as he passes by. 

Bucky is running in an arch, firing his pistol. One bullet takes the dark haired man in the shoulder before the four of them disappear in a puff of smoke. Then chaos erupts. 

The four reappear an instant later, moved to the right and back. The man that had been shot is screaming and a yellowish glow covers his body. Erik recognizes the signs of powers responding instinctively. The glow turns orangey-red and light flares out in front of him in a blast that singes the ground. The light dies down quickly, revealing the man clutching his bleeding shoulder, face scrunched in pain and anger.

“Stop fooling around you idiots. Azazel take care of that damn soldier. Pyro, Sunspot, deal with the metal kid,” Mastermind shouts, but he doesn’t take his gaze off Charles. 

“Aren’t you going to help old man,” Pyro growls, gathering more flame into his hand with a flick of his lighter. 

“I can’t,” Mastermind grins, “the kid is stronger than I thought.” 

Erik looks over at Charles. He is kneeling in the grass, his fingers pressed into his temple so hard it looks like it will bruise and his eyes are clenched tight. When Erik feels along the bond to see if he is okay, he gets a very distinctive feeling of ‘ _Keep Out!’_. 

Erik leaps away from Charles when it is obvious the two fire manipulators have turned their attention to him. Pyro lobs fireballs like a baseball pitcher while Sunspot lights up like a torch, his whole body a whoosh of flame. Erik’s gun is still trailing after him, caught in a mindless control. Erik fires it twice, curving the bullets as he runs. The first bullet dissolves under Sunspot’s heat, but the second one takes Pyro in the side just as he winds up for the pitch. He cries out in pain, his flame dispersing with a hiss. 

Erik doesn’t hesitate, he grabs onto the metal lighter and tosses it into the river. 

Pyro snarls, both hands pressed into his side to staunch the blood dribbling between his fingers. “You’ll regret that!”

A flare of heat and light streak past Erik, scorching his clothes and leaving a pulsing burn across his whole right side. He curses mentally, a slew of vicious words he picked up from Bucky. He’d forgotten about Sunspot. He can’t shoot the man and the flame he’s encased himself in makes it impossible to reach any metal he may have on him. 

Trying to think of something, anything, to stop the man, he sprints around the clearing, looking like an idiot, he’s sure. On one of his zig-zag routes he turns in time to watch Azazel popping in and out with a poof of smoke, taunting Bucky and striking the man with the sharp tip of his tail. Bucky is covered in gashes and scratches, but his face is set, calculating. He spins and fires the gun into thin air, but an instant later Azazel is there and he’s down on the ground, wheezing from the bullet now lodged in his chest. 

Erik is turning away from the scene, trying to keep an eye on Sunspot when a horrible cry stops him in his tracks. 

Mastermind’s head is thrown back, his face a rictus of pain. There is blood pouring from his nose and ears. It's horrifying. 

Charles is silent, but his face is scrunched in pain and concentration, bright red blood drips from his nose. 

Erik feels the force of his psychic presence, steamrolling over him, and judging by the look on everyone’s face, he isn’t the only one. Sunspot stands frozen, the rippling heat wave of his power trapped only inches from his skin. Pyro is focused on Charles now, his hand still clenched over his bleeding side, but his face is blank. 

Moving jerkily, Bucky makes his way to Erik’s side. “What is he doing?” he asks, voice gruff. 

Shaking his head, Erik keeps his gaze fixed on Charles, he has no idea what he is doing. 

“ _Enough,_ ” Charles mental voice is a snarl, a mental growl that makes them all flinch. “ _This is over,_ ” he sounds older, his voice reverberating with a strength that belies his age. “ _We were stronger than you expected. You lost control and we died. The mutants and the Winter Soldier are dead,_ ” He turns his head, focusing his steely gaze on Sunspot. 

The man jerks stiffly, like a puppet, as he turns away from them. The flare of his power brightens, gathering strength until his form is a fathomless black surrounded by orange flames. In a flash of light so bright it hurts Erik’s eyes, Sunspot releases his power. 

When the roaring flame dissipates, he blinks the spots out of his eyes to find the area in front of them is a blackened crater of scorched destruction. It looks like a bomb has gone off. 

“ _There_ ,” Charles says, sounding pleased, “ _Now we are dead._ ” 

Erik can see a flicker of images from the bond, it takes him a moment to realize they are false memories being implanted into the five mutants minds. The thought is staggering. 

“ _Go away,_ ” Charles commands. 

Azazel stands, seemingly unaware of the bullet in his gut. Mastermind, Sunspot, and Pyro follow Azazel over to the last man, still knocked unconscious against the tree. They all place a hand on the red mutant and with a flash of smoke, they are gone. 

Bucky’s eyes are wide, the shock looking almost comical. “What did you do?”

Charles turns to them, there is a smear of blood across his lips. “ _I fixed it_ ,” he grins and passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is interesting trying to write the personalities of everyone in this because it is an AU. Plus, with Charles and Erik being kids and their changed background it would alter their responses to things, but I still want to keep the core of them the same. I hope I managed to accomplish that. This story is my first time writing any of these characters, but I'm pretty happy with how it is coming so far.


	5. Flies in my Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wakes up and it is a bit of a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get this one a bit early this week because I'm going on a cross country road trip tomorrow. Sorry this is such a short chapter.

## Chapter Five: Flies in My Head

Mexico city is massive. It sprawls for miles and miles and Bucky is relatively sure he has never been here. The size is to their benefit, it is easy to get lost in the bustle of the city, though he has a suspicion that they are no longer being chased. He would like to ask Charles about what, exactly, he had done to the other mutants, but the boy has been unconscious since the battle.

After the second day, Bucky had broken into a clinic so he could get what he needed to give Charles an IV. Erik had not been happy. The first attempt had resulted in a bent needle and a warning tug on his metal arm, but Erik finally relented. 

After deciphering Erik’s chicken scratch and bad spelling, Bucky learns that Erik can still feel Charles through the bond, but it’s like a wall is sitting between them. Judging by Charle`s response to the last time he had overexerted his powers, Bucky assumes that planting false memories in five mutants has left him even more exhausted. He tells Erik that Charles will be fine, that he just needs rest, he hopes it is the truth. 

They settle in the northern part of the city near Naucalpan. They can see the massive towers of the Torres de Satélite from their hotel window. Bucky takes to looking at them as the days pass, he likes tracing the points of the colored structures with his flesh fingers against the glass. 

Erik is despondent, spending most of his time curled against Charles side and watching the steady drip of the IV hooked to the headboard. It causes a tight knot in Bucky’s chest every time he sees them. 

Charles has been in a coma for 5 days when he wakes up, and it is chaos. 

Bucky is sitting at the window, as usual. He is tracing sightlines from the surrounding buildings, determining the best locations to set up a sniper nest and the quickest escape routes from the busy square. He hates that when faced with a city skyline his first thought is not to the beauty of the scene before him, but the best way to kill a target, even when there is no target to kill. 

He is trying to redirect his thoughts when a presence seeps into his mind. He knows it is Charles, but Charles usually passes his thoughts along unobtrusively. His powers are like a summer breeze, pleasant, but there and gone again in an instant. This time is different. The mind entering his does so with the force of an enraged bull let free of it’s pen, causing damage and destruction with very little intent. 

Bucky screams. He clenches at his head, his metal arm whirring, the plates clicking open and close. He forces himself to turn towards the bed. Charles` back is arched up, his eyes are open wide, but only the whites are visible. His mouth is caught in a scream, but no sound escapes. 

Erik is curled at his side, his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms curled protectively around his head like he can protect himself from the mental assault. 

There is no time to hesitate, no room to think, so Bucky moves to the bed. His legs are stiff, resisting the movement, but he makes it. He uses the electric shock built into his metal fingers to send Charles back into unconsciousness. 

The presence in his mind shuts off instantly, like the snapping of a rubber band. Bucky comes back into himself hunched over the bed, breathing hard with fine tremors working over his body. 

Erik shifts with a whimper. He turns to Bucky, eyes wide and startled. 

“I think,” Bucky sucks in a shaky breath, “We may need to change locations.”

 

They sneak out of the hotel with relative ease, making their way out the fire exit. Erik dismantles the alarm with a flick of his fingers. Judging by the dazed look on the few people they see, Charles`s mind had wandered much further than their hotel room. 

Bucky bites back a curse at this. Charles may have confused the people chasing them, but if word gets back to Hydra of a psychic disturbance in Mexico City, it won’t take a genius to figure out that they aren’t quite so dead. He can only hope that the disturbance was not so widespread as to draw attention. He does not have time to find out, so he buckles Charles into the backseat of their stolen car and books it out of town. 

He takes them into the country, pushing the car as fast it will go without Erik’s help. Unfortunately, there are no conveniently abandoned hunting cabins for them to bunk down in, but he finds a nice campsite along the wilder banks of Lago de Guadalupe. The lake, like most large bodies of water, has a few large communities along the bank, but he finds a secluded inlet that seems safe enough. 

Erik helps him put up a makeshift tent, using the car and two ponchos. Bucky doesn’t really need the help, but he can tell it helps steady Erik’s nerves. They place Charles under the ponchos, using a bundled coat as a pillow. He looks so peaceful, harmless. Bucky looks at this kid with fine strands of brown hair just starting to come in, but still too short to cover the horrific scar curling around his ear. He can’t connect the vision of the child in front of him to the same boy that killed and controlled people with the power of his mind. 

Not for the first time, Bucky thanks whoever is listening that these kids are no longer in Hydra’s hands. 

‘OK?’ Erik asks, holding up the pocket notebook they picked up after Panama. 

Bucky nods. “Yeah I’m okay Scamp. It’s Charles I’m worried ‘bout.” He sighs, running his hands through his too long hair. 

‘Seilds down,” Erik writes. 

Bucky stares at it for a second. “Shields?” he asks. 

Erik nods. ‘To many peple, to many minds.’ He pulls his book to him for a moment, glaring at the paper. With a fierce scribble he holds it up again. ‘I can help.’ Another scribble, ‘I tink.’

“If you think you can help, give it a try, just be careful,” Bucky says, gesturing to Charles. 

As predicted, Erik glares, but goes to curl up beside Charles. 

Bucky is not sure what Erik is trying, but he stands guard over them as the sun sinks in the sky. He doesn't remember ever not having a mission when not in the ice and this time is no different. This time, however, the mission is to protect, and he is happy to carry it out with all the considerable skill he has. 

Time passes slowly. Bucky watches the sunset in a brilliant display of oranges and reds. The lake is peaceful, filling the air with the tranquil babble of the water and the chatter of birdsong. 

He is not sure how long he stands there, but by the time he feels the psychic presence brush across his mind the sky has grown dark. It is a tentative touch at first, just a feeling, but it rises cresting like a wave. He falls to his knees, clutching at his head. It isn’t painful exactly, not like before, but the feeling is overwhelming. 

Memories, long thought lost, flash across his mind. They zip past, impossible to grasp, but he sees hints. The skinny blond boy, front teeth missing and a black eye, Steve. He sees a ramshackle apartment, rats in the rafters and an empty icebox, but there is Steve and he is happy. He sees the little guy holding a trash can lid and then there is the Captain, shield held high. He sees the muck and the blood, fields of dead soldiers. He’s strapped to a table and he’s afraid, but then Steve is there, filling up his vision. His thoughts are a swirl of red, white, and blue and they ache. 

He bites down on his knuckles, tastes blood, but he refuses to scream. He can’t draw attention. Just as the flood of memories become too much, there is another presence. The other mind cuts in, sharp as a knife and just as forceful. He thinks he can hear words; enough, rest, it’ll be okay. The thoughts are soothing, a balm against his tattered mind. 

The release of his mind is sudden, and it feels strangely empty with only his own thoughts in his head. The backslash stings, like pulling back on a rubber band until it snaps. Bucky whines, an animal scream that escapes between his clenched teeth. The darkness that follows is a welcome relief. 

He wakes with the sun burning behind his eyelids. His eyes water at the pain when he opens them. When he pushes up to a sitting position, his arm aching, he notices that someone has tucked a folded jacket beneath his head. A quick survey of camp reveals the culprit. 

Erik is leaning against the car, looking nervous and trying to hide it. He holds up his book, ‘U ok?’

Bucky takes stock of himself, he has a headache and his muscles are stiff like he spent the whole night tensed for battle. He clenches and unclenches his metal arm, it moves as smoothly as ever. “I’m fine, what happened?” 

Erik turns the page, apparently prepared for the question. ‘Seilds down, help make new seilds, but there waz bleed over. Good now, Charles sleps.’

Bucky lets out a breath and runs his flesh hand through his hair. “That’s good news. We need to keep moving. Will he be alright?” 

Erik nods, looking certain. 

They pick up the site quickly, leaving Charles for last. He grumbles a bit when Bucky shifts him into the backseat. It’s a good sign that he is finally out of his catatonic state. 

***

They are just coming up on Monterrey when Charles wakes.

Bucky is distracted, looking at the approaching city and the massive mountain that looms over it. The monolith seems sudden, as if pulled from the ground to guard the town beneath. 

It is Erik’s gasp that pulls his attention back to the occupants in the back seat. Charles is struggling to a sit up with Erik`s help. He has a hand pressed to his temple and his eyes have the sort of glazed look of someone who has either gotten too much sleep or has a very bad headache. Bucky suspects it’s both. 

“How you feelin buddy?” 

Charles squints at him. This time his mental voice is as it should be, gentle and unobtrusive. _‘I’m so sorry Bucky, I lost control again.’_

Erik makes a sound of protest and Bucky has to agree. “No, no, look kiddo. I know you probably know a lot of this, shit you probably know my past better than I do, but I need you to listen. I kill people for a living. I’ve been doing it for a very long time and I’m damn good at it, but I couldn’t have taken those guys back there. Hell, that first guy that messed with gravity would have done me in. You didn’t lose control. You saved us, you convinced the other guys that we were dead and you sent them on their way, and you did it without a single loss of life. Of course it wore you out. I can only imagine how difficult something like that must have been, but you listen to me Charles, you should be proud, damn proud, because if it wasn’t for you we’d all be back in some god forsaken lab again.” 

_‘You mean that,’_ Charles sounds stunned. 

Bucky turns so he can see the look on his face. “Damn straight.”


	6. We Can be Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally find a home

## Chapter Six: We Can be Free

Considering the amount of power he used, Charles thought he would be completely worn out, but after an overnight stay in Monterrey he feels fine. Even his headache is gone, and this worries him terribly because it means he is getting stronger. His powers are adapting to these impossible feats.

Erik senses his worry and spends the car trip trying to distract him. He is surprisingly effective. He must have been collecting metal during their travels because he has a pocket full of scraps. He manipulates spheres of iron, copper, and bronze, melting and reforming them into different shapes. He doesn’t have the concentration for detailed figures, but he manages a copper man with an iron left arm that is instantly recognizable. 

The playful use of Erik’s powers makes Charles laugh, and he allows some of his worry to abate. If he is growing more powerful, there is nothing he can do to prevent it, only make sure that he uses his powers as carefully as possible. 

About 3 hours outside of Monterrey, Bucky pulls the car into a busy parking lot. In the distance Charles can just make out a bridge leading to a u-shaped building. The bridge is packed with cars, all moving slowly towards the building. 

Bucky turns to face them, the look he fixes Charles is determined, but there is a hint of nervousness around his eyes. “So…” he starts, then sighs. “Alright, look. Across that bridge is the border into Texas. Obviously we don’t have passports, and the contacts I have to acquire such things are all hydra so that’s out. Our options are to go through border control and have Charles use his powers to convince the border patrol that we do have passports, or we can go further along the border and get across somewhere a little less protected. I won’t push you to use your powers if you don’t want to. We can cross out in the desert somewhere, but I thought I’d give you the option.” 

Charles feels an immense swell of gratitude for Bucky. He is only grazing his surface thoughts, going deeper would be rude, but he can tell that Bucky is completely honest about what he is saying. Bucky will let him choose, if Charles doesn’t what to use his powers, they will go a different way and that is that.

He’s conflicted about the choice. On one hand, it wouldn’t take much to get them pass, just a tweak of perception like what he had been using on the hotel staff. On the other hand, it would be an invasion, not as invasive perhaps as what he did to the other mutants, but an invasion all the same. Who is he to determine which is right? 

_‘They’re your powers Charles,’_ Erik intrudes, _‘you are the only one who can determine how to use them.’_

Charles bites his lip, Erik has a point, though he had not intended for him to hear his inner debate. Since Erik helped him renew his shields the barrier between their minds is even thinner than usual. _‘I’ll do it, let’s go through the border,’_ he decides. 

Erik and Bucky are right, he cannot be afraid of his own abilities. It’s very likely that he will need to use them in the future to protect his family, and he knows that given the choice between protecting those he cares about and using his powers, it isn’t a choice at all. 

Bucky gives him a searching look, as if he has powers of his own and is testing Charles’ sincerity. He gives a sharp nod, “Alright then.” 

Crossing over to Laredo is a long and tedious process. They line up behind one of the stretches of cars and slowly eek their way to the checkpoint. Bucky gets antsy, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while they wait. Even Erik starts to tap on the door, it being too risky for him to manipulate any of his metal scraps. 

By the time they pull up to the booth, Charles is more than ready to use his powers, if only to get them moving again. Bucky hands the officer three pieces of blank paper, and Charles presses his fingers to his brow. It is so easy to slip into his mind, the man is bored, tired, and getting off work in ten minutes. He glances over the papers and hands them back with a nod. “Have a good day sir.” 

“You too.” They hit the highway and it is smooth sailing into Texas. They decide to get lunch in Laredo, all of them more than ready to get out of the car. Bucky finds them a taco truck beside a park, it looks a little sketchy but smells amazing. He orders for them in rapid fire spanish and in no time they are perched at a park bench chowing on chicken tacos and a paper bag full of churros. 

_‘Have you decided where we are heading?’_ Charles asks once he’s finished his last taco. He gives the bag of churros a mournful look, he’s pretty sure if he eats anymore he’ll explode. 

“Not really,” Bucky sighs, “I was heading for New York, but…” Charles can feel the melancholy of his thoughts. His memories spill over with ease. He sees a bare cell, stained with Bucky’s blood. He feels his stubbornness and pride until his captors taunt him with the knowledge that his best friend had sacrificed his life for the world. He can feel Bucky’s love for New York, for Brooklyn, but there is pain as well. 

_‘You remembered, when my shields were down?’_

“Yeah,” Bucky runs his hand through his hair, “There are still gaps, but I remember a lot more.” He tugs a map from his pocket, one of the cheap gas station ones that are impossible to fold up without ripping them. The map covers the whole of the United States, highways zig-zagging in all directions. 

_‘Why don’t we pick a place at random?’_ Erik suggests, grabbing a pebble from their picnic table. 

Bucky hums, “It would certainly make it harder for them to track us.” 

Erik lobs the pebble, it bounces a few times before rolling to a stop in the middle of the map. 

Bucky picks it up with his metal hand, balancing it between his fingers. “Colorado,” he says, leaning down to get a better look at where it landed. “A little north of Denver.” 

_‘I’ve never been to Colorado,’_ Charles comments. 

_‘Me either, or at least I don’t think so,'_ Erik adds. 

“Well, that’s settled then,” Bucky grins, “We’re going to Colorado.” 

***

The trip to Denver takes over 16 hours. They take their time, spending the night in a hotel outside Amarillo. The scenery from Mexico to Texas doesn’t change much. The drive is filled with long stretches of empty highway surrounded by a lot of brown; brown dirt, brown shrubs, brown mountains. It’s endlessly boring, but for the stretches when Bucky ceeds control of the car and lets Erik drive. Charles can feel Erik’s gift through their bond, and marvels in his perception of metal, especially with his concentration focused on such a task. 

The scenery doesn’t change until halfway through Colorado. The change is sudden, the mountains get taller and more jagged, the shrubs turn into trees, and the brown becomes green. 

They stop in Colorado Springs for lunch, at a german restaurant of all places, but apparently Bucky likes schnitzel and is feeling nostalgic. They even go to the Garden of the Gods, walking off their lunch surrounded by red rock mountains. Between the grand structures, the sky looks impossibly blue. 

Denver is an interesting city to drive through. The suburbs stretch in all directions from the center, but the views of nature are still prominent, mountains filling the sky to the west, and trees popping up in every available space. They decide to head north of Denver, close enough to get lost in the population, but far enough away to give them some peace. 

The city of Longmont is chosen with the same randomness of the pebble toss, that is to say, they choose it because it is the town they are in when the gas light turns on. The drive around town shows a Main street filled with eclectic shops with everything from Art Galleries to Cheese Shops to Breweries. 

On the west side of town they pass an apartment complex with an availability sign. Charles frowns at the pool he sees behind the clubhouse, but Erik doesn’t seem worried. 

Charles keeps his shields stretched to touch surface thoughts when they enter the building. He’s ready to interfere if the attendant judges them based on Bucky’s leather jacket despite the summer heat or their too long t-shirts, but the woman that greets them doesn’t give their clothing so much as a passing thought. Apparently they get all sorts in Longmont. 

“We’re interested in seeing a unit,” Bucky says, as soon as he sees her. 

The woman, mid-40s with greying brown hair and a smart suit, gives him a sunny smile. “I’m Melinda, welcome to The Legacy. I will be happy to assist you with that today. We don’t have any 3 bedroom apartments currently available, but we have a large two bed two bath unit that just opened up if your boys don’t mind sharing.” 

“We’ll take a look.” 

Melinda takes them to the back of the lots in an electric golf cart that has a surprising amount of power. Charles giggles when she swings into the parking spot like she’s driving a stunt car. 

The unit she shows them is the largest of the 2 bedroom floorplans. Charles marvels at all the room. The carpet is beige and so are the walls, but the living room has one wall in cheery yellow. The first bedroom they see is the one he and Erik will share. There is more than enough room for them, and he likes the blue accent wall. Bucky’s room is a touch larger and with one wall in vibrant red. The kitchen is a good size with an island they can sit at, plus a dining room. It is the largest, nicest place any of them have ever stayed at. 

Melinda takes them back to the clubhouse and with a mix of Charles altering her perception and Erik fiddling with the computer, they convince her that their application has been approved and that they have paid the first year’s rent upfront. 

Bucky parks the car in the spot right in front of their first floor unit. There isn’t much for unpacking. They only have two pairs of clothes a piece, in fact most of their luggage is the guns and ammo Bucky collected across South America. 

“What do you think boys?” Bucky asks, surveying the apartment and its complete lack of furniture. 

_‘It’s perfect,’_ Charles answers honestly. 

_‘It could be home,’_ Erik’s mental voice is a whisper, protecting thoughts too easily stolen. 

“Yes,” Bucky smiles, “I think this just might work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to live in Colorado, north of Denver in the city of Thornton, but I picked Longmont for the boys because it is a little further north and way less busy than Thornton.


	7. How to Live Out Here, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys learn to adapt.

## Chapter Seven: How to Live out Here, Part One

It’s been six weeks since they escaped the lab, four since they settled in Colorado. Erik sits next to the small stream running through the middle of their apartment complex and reminds himself of these facts.

His heart is pounding, thrumming painfully in his chest. He can hardly breathe, breaths coming in short pants. He closes his eyes and forces himself to relax, to breath. In. Out. In. Out. 

He can feel Charles knocking along their link, he’s worried. Erik hadn’t quite managed to hide his panic. _‘I’m fine,’_ he sends along and strengthens his shields. He feels stupid, not sure what made him flee the apartment. Nothing is wrong. Summer is giving way to autumn, the trees turning from vibrant greens to burnished orange and gold. The weather is warm, there’s a pleasant breeze, there is no reason for this...panic. 

He presses his palm to chest, hard enough to feel the heartbeat beneath. It’s been a busy four weeks. Bucky got a job at a local mechanics shop within a day, which was good because the cash they had taken in the escape was down to almost nothing. Their lack of funds made furnishing the apartment slow going, but Bucky is a master at negotiating prices at yard sales. They’ve kept busy putting everything together. 

Erik had woken this morning, early, always early, and had wandered into the kitchen. The apartment had been quiet, Bucky gone for his run and then work, and Charles still curled up in bed. Erik usually enjoys the silence, but this morning it had haunted him, chasing him from the building. 

He takes another deep breath, eyes closed, and listens. There is the trickle of the stream, the call of songbirds and one irate crow, there is the whoosh of passing cars, the hush of footfalls. He opens his eyes and Charles is there, looking worried. 

_‘You could have woken me.’_

_‘I’m pretty sure I did,’_ Erik gives a self-depreciating smile. 

_‘I felt your panic, I was worried.’_ Charles takes a seat next to Erik, both of them fitting easily on the concrete bench. 

Erik glances at him before returning his gaze to the stream. _‘I’m sorry.’_

He leans over pushing their shoulders together, _‘Don’t be. I worry too.’_

_‘You do?’_ Erik’s never felt it through the bond.

Charles hums, _‘I have this dream where I keep waking up back in the lab, electrodes taped to my head and needles in my arms. I fear that this is the dream, it is a relief every time I wake up.’_

Erik turns to him, stunned. _‘I have similar dreams,’_ he admits. 

Charles nods, unsurprised. _‘So does Bucky. We’re quite the mess my friend, but we are free.’_

_‘For now,’_ He clenches his fist, pulling a coin from his pocket. 

Charles hand, so small and translucent pale, settles over his fist, _‘For always.’_

He stares at that hand for a long time, debating his response. He shoves away his dark thoughts and crams his doubts into a dusty corner of his mind. Erik stands, tugging Charles with him. _‘Come on, let’s go for a walk.’_

They walk the path circling the complex twice, before deciding to stop at the small playground. They both love the swings. Charles finds it relaxing and Erik enjoys the metronome effect of the chains against his metal sense. They stay out for ages, languishing in the open sky and mild weather until Charles hears Bucky returning from work. 

“Hey boys, good day?” Bucky asks them when they walk through the door. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, still in his greasy coveralls.

Erik nods, because despite the start, it had been a surprisingly good day. 

Charles just narrows his eyes and asks, _‘What’s wrong?’_

Bucky laughs and gives them a wry smile. “Can’t keep anything from you,” he shakes his head, “nothing too dire, I promise. Just some things I want to talk to you two about.” 

_‘Like what?’_ Erik tries to keep the nerves from his voice, but it's hard when his voice is a mental projection. 

Bucky takes a seat at their kitchen table, and gestures for them to do the same. They sit. The table only has three chairs and they are all different, Erik takes a seat on the one that has somehow become his. 

_‘I’m sure it will be fine,’_ Charles assures, always so optimistic. 

Bucky scratches the back of his head, looking much too nervous for such a large man. “It’s just logistics really, like school. You two should go to school. I think you’d like it and it will draw attention if you don’t go. And there's…” he sighs, “well the talking.” 

_‘Talking?’_

“Erm, yeah. In that you don’t, not really. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean Charles can just project his voice and no one will ever realize, but you Erik. When Charles isn’t projecting for you, you can only write things down...sorta.” Bucky’s eyes dart about, looking at everything but them. “I don’t know if they did something to the two of you, if you can’t speak, um, vocally, but maybe some sign language classes would be a good idea.” 

Erik glances at Charles, catching his gaze. He can feel Charles guilt, its usual weighty presence, and places a hand on his knee in reassurance. _‘I haven’t tried, not since, before...But there is nothing physically wrong.”_

Charles bites his lip, brow scrunched. _‘I could talk before I think. There was just no one to listen, not til Erik.’_

Erik feels a surge of rage so fierce the lights flicker. _‘Sorry,’_ he murmurs, pulling his powers back inwards, though he can still feel the coins in his pocket magnetized to his thigh. 

_‘Why don’t you two go for a walk,’_ Charles suggests, _‘It’ll be much easier for Erik to try talking if I’m not there to, ah, translate.’_

_‘It isn’t your fault, Charles,’_ Erik snarls, the lights flickering again. 

_‘I know that,’_ Charles rolls his eyes in the exasperated way that implies that he does, in fact, think it is his fault, but would never admit it. 

Erik glares at him, but is distracted when Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, to find Bucky giving him a hopeful look. Erik shoots Charles an emotional jab, a sort of mental shove, before letting Bucky lead him outside. 

They wander in silence for awhile, taking busy side streets until Bucky leads them onto the Lobo trail. It is a long, meandering trail that would lead them to Boulder if they stayed on it long enough, and as good a place as any for Erik to attempt speaking. 

He opens his mouth to try and say something, but closes it with a click, unsure what to say. 

“It might take awhile, it’s alright. We spent that time on our,” Bucky hesitates, “trip, by ourselves too.” 

Erik’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s true that he had tried to communicate with Bucky while Charles was knocked out, and hadn’t even attempted to speak. 

“It’s alright,” Bucky assures. “You know there was a while there where I couldn’t speak either.”

Erik looks up at him and tries his first word, “Why?” It comes out as a breath, more of a whispered ‘w’ that sounds less like a word and more like an exhalation. 

Bucky seems to understand all the same. “Well,” he frowns. “Back in the 60’s when they first woke me up I had forgotten pretty much everything. I didn’t know my name or my past, but I could remember Steve. At least I could remember he was important anyways, so I kept asking, ‘where is Steve?’ Over and over I would ask for him. It drove ‘em crazy. Eventually they just started hitting me with, I think it was a cattle prod, every time I said his name. I’m pretty sure they just wanted me to stop asking about him, but I just stopped talking altogether. I figured if I couldn’t talk about Steve why should I bother talking about anything.” 

Erik has so many questions about Bucky’s response, but considering his limits he goes for a simple, “How?” The word is still a whisper of sounds, but it works. 

Bucky grins down at him, pleased. “How did I start talking again?”

Erik nods. 

“Well, they put me under again and when I woke up I still wasn’t talking, but a new group of people had me and they started teaching me Russian. I...” He swallows, looking away. “I forgot Steve, so I stopped asking.” 

“Who?” Erik tries, and decides he likes the ‘w’ sound, a great deal can be conveyed with just a breath. 

“Who is Steve?” Bucky looks over at him, his eyes are sad, but his grin is wide and childish. “He’s my Charles, I guess you could say. We grew up in the same neighborhood. It was the 30’s so just about everyone was poor. Steve was this little scrawny kid with a penchant for standing up for the little guy even though he was the littlest guy I knew. He just hated bullies, and Steve never met a fight he could stay out of.” He turns his gaze to the farmland stretching out around them. 

“How?” Erik huffs, trying to form the question. “How old?”

Bucky turns back to him, brow furrowed. “What? How old was Steve? Just a year younger than me.” 

Erik shakes his head, frustrated. 

“Oh,” Bucky’s eyes widen with realization. He laughs, “How old am I? God that story must have been confusing. I forgot I never did say, did I.” He shakes his head. “I’m much older than I look. Ninety-something now. You see back in the war I got captured by Hydra, and they did something to me, changed me.” 

Erik listens, rapt. 

“Steve saved me, got me out. He got changed too, something similar I think, but he volunteered for it back home, the great idiot.” He scowls, but laughs when Erik scowls with him. “Well, I told you. He didn’t like bullies. We fought together for awhile, the memories are kinda blurry, but I remember fallin’ off a train. Then Hydra got me again. I’ve been with them since.” 

Erik doesn’t like touching or being touched, unless it’s Charles, but he reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand. 

Bucky looks down at his hand, head tilted like he doesn’t recognize the gesture. “Thank you,” he says, and gives his hand a little squeeze. 

Erik feels a moment of discomfort. Bucky’s hand is massive, and he could crush him with little effort, but his grip is so light. Erik doesn’t need telepathy to realize that Bucky is terrified of hurting him. He lets himself relax. 

They continue down the path until they come upon the place where the river crosses beneath the path. Erik stops, looking over the rails at the fast moving water. 

“You alright?” 

Erik feels a stab of shame, remembering how useless he had been in Panama. “Fine.” He likes the single syllable words, it is more like sighing than speaking. Bucky stays silent, and Erik is immensely grateful that he doesn’t ask. Still. “Th...th...they,” he forces out. His throat hurts, but he doesn’t think speaking has anything to do with it. “In wa...water...test.” He clenches his fist and grits his teeth. Rage and frustration bubble up in his throat until the rails shake.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Bucky pulls him into his chest. 

Erik presses his face into Bucky’s coveralls. They smell like oil and grease, nothing like the labs. He takes a deep breath and lets his hands unclench, releasing his powers at the same time. He lets himself stay there for just a moment, hiding his embarrassment, before stepping back. 

He looks around, partly to avoid Bucky’s gaze and partly to check for people on the trail. That had been stupid, using his powers like that out in the open. This time of the day was peak walking time for the trail and he had just had a breakdown in one of the most popular stopping points. He is lucky that the rails are only a little bent, he fixes them with a flick of his fingers. 

“It’s alright,” Bucky repeats. “I would have known if someone was coming,” he taps beneath his ear. 

Erik always forgets that for all that Bucky isn’t a mutant, he isn’t exactly human either. He tries to say thank you, but it is too much, the words are trapped. 

“Come on,” Bucky presses his hand to Erik’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “Let’s go home.” It is a long way back, and if Erik stays a little too close to Bucky’s side, neither of them mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post this. Hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> I'm not sure why but my absolute favorite troupe to read, and write apparently, is hurt/comfort kidfic, where the kids start out with a terrible life for various reasons, but they stay strong and find a family and everything works out. I just find it very cathartic. If you have any recommendations, feel free to send them my way.


	8. How to Live Out Here, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky struggles with normalacy, but at least he has his boys.

## Chapter Eight: How to Live Out Here, Part Two

“James, you done yet? Lunch time.”

Bucky pushes out from under the old Niisan he’s been working on. “Just finished.” He tugs the glove from his right hand and tosses it in the trash. He places the car keys in the done bucket for Ruby to work up and heads to the breakroom. 

“Oy Gringo,” Claro greets, mouth full of chips. 

Rita smacks him upside the head, “Stop you.” She gives him a smile, “Hey James. Was it the sensor?” 

James takes the seat in front of them, “Yeah, O2 sensor in the front, easy fix.” He pulls open his lunch, curious to see what the boys have made for him this time. He had never intended for them to start making his lunches, but Charles had insisted, so of course Erik had gone along with it. 

Today’s lunch is ham and cheese, a bag of baby carrots, and some oreos. The cookies bring a smile to his lips, he had bought them on a whim. Money is tight, but he thought the boys deserved some sweets after the crap they had been forced to eat in the lab. They had loved the cookies at first taste and had sensibly decided to eat one a day until the box is done. The three cookies they’ve packed for him is quite the treasure. 

“You eat the most boring lunches,” Claro laughs, picking up the carrots with a dubious look. 

“My boys pack it,” Bucky growls, snatching the bag back. 

“Boys?” Rita leans forward. “You have kids?”

Bucky hasn’t really talked about himself at work in the month since he started. “Uh yeah, two boys,” It isn’t for security reasons that he doesn’t talk about them, well not really, only that his new memories are so much more precious now that he knows how easily they can be taken away. 

“How old?” 

“Twelve and Eight,” Bucky admits. He doesn’t want to talk about them anymore, but he decides this is a good time to ask some questions that have been bothering him. “When does school start here?” 

Claro guffaws, until Rita gives him a shove. “You should have them signed up by now. School starts August 18th.” 

Bucky winces, that’s a week away. “And the schools here are… good?” 

Rita shrugs. “They’re not bad I guess. My little sister is in highschool so it’s a little different.” 

“My kids go to Blue Mountain, it’s not bad, better than we had in Aurora,” Claro says, standing. He runs his hands over his hair, doing little to tame the dark strands. “Gotta get back to work. You better get on that James, the paperwork is a pain.” He strides out the door with a wave. 

“I better get back too, I have that timing belt mess on the Civic to deal with. You should bring your boys by sometime, Dad won’t mind,” Rita stands and claps him on the shoulder. She’s so short, they’re the same height with him sitting. 

“The valves bent?” 

“Up to high heaven, it’s a mess,” Rita huffs. “Bring ‘em by James.” 

He eats the rest of his lunch alone, letting the sounds of the shop calm him. He thinks Erik would like to visit, all the moving metal. Charles would probably enjoy it too, just for the chance to learn something new. 

Rick, who owns the shop, certainly wouldn’t mind if Bucky brought them by. Rick had inherited the shop from his father, who had inherited it from his father, and has every intention of passing it on to his three daughters. It is a family business and Rick always keeps that in mind. 

First, though, he has to sort out this school business. Bucky sighs, and gets back to work. 

***

Back home, the boys are sprawled out on the floor drawing on the computer paper he had fished out of the recycling bin at work and the handful of blue and black pens they own. 

“Hey Bucky,” Erik greets, glancing up from his drawing. His voice has gotten a lot stronger in the last week, more self assured. 

“Hey,” Charles whispers, looking up with a smile. He has managed to start talking out loud, but it has been an uphill fight. 

“Hey boys. Thanks for my lunch.” Bucky flops down beside them, and looks over the pictures. Charles’s pictures are of things he has seen around the apartments, people walking dogs and rows of buildings with jagged mountains in the distance. Erik’s pictures are of the lab, faceless men in long coats, a plastic cage, an empty pool with a metal block hanging above. 

Bucky swallows, feeling a knot in his gut. He won’t mention the pictures, but reminds himself to pick up some crayons. He remembers Steve, drawing until his crayons and pencils crumbled to dust. “You guys want to go for a walk? I was thinking the library.” 

_‘Yes,’_ Charles shoots up. _‘Let’s go.’_ His excitement melts into a scowl. “I mean, yes,” he grumbles. 

“You’re getting there Charles.” Bucky claps him on the shoulder and is rewarded with a blinding grin. 

“That sounds good.” Erik stands at a more sedate pace, tugging on his shoes and waiting expectantly while Charles hunts down his. 

They set out at a sedate pace. It’s almost 3 miles to the library, but they go straight down Main Street. Charles loves to look at the shops, and while he never lets it show, Bucky knows Erik enjoys the scenery. 

They’ve been to the library before, but Bucky is always surprised. Longmont isn’t that large of a city, but the public library is a two-story, modern building covered in windows that fill the halls with sunlight. 

The boys go straight to the kids section. Neither one of them can really read, but they like looking at the pictures. Usually Bucky will read to them, honestly he isn’t much better off then them, not having read anything since the forties, but he remembers enough to read a picture book. 

This time, he goes to one of the Library’s many computers to figure out how to sign the boys up for school. His own reading troubles are easily overcome by the computer’s text to talk function and some headphones. Still, the website is clunky and confusing. The amount of paperwork he is going to need is just daunting. They all have fake passports and social security cards now, and he’s acquired a driver’s license, but he doesn’t have birth certificates or shot records. He certainly doesn’t have previous school records. 

Bucky places his head in his hands and sighs. The computer drones on. He doesn’t even know where they should go. Erik should be in 7th grade, but he can barely read or write, and Charles should be in 3rd, but is even worst off in the reading and writing department. 

He clicks a link for homeschooling out of desperation. The rules and curriculum is pretty straight forward, though some of the programs require a computer and internet so the children can learn using virtual classrooms. They also have to take state tests at certain grade levels, and he’ll have to write a letter to the school district by the next day to have them legally enrolled. 

The only problem is he would have to be the teacher. He had dropped out of school at 14 to start working so he could help his Ma, and that had been ages ago. He isn’t fit to teach them, but he doesn’t really have a choice. He emails the district his intent to homeschool, and starts googling ‘teaching kids to read’. It’s going to be a long night. 

They stay until the library closes at nine. They leave with a few books and every helpful page online Bucky could print out. Halfway down Main Street Charles is yawning so hard it looks like he might break his jaw. 

“Come on halfpint,” Bucky chuckles and pulls Charles up to settle him on his hip. He weighs almost nothing, resting against his metal arm. The boy gives a grumble of complaint, but nuzzles into his neck like a newborn pup. It’s adorable.

Erik must be tired as well because instead of the glare Bucky expects, he takes a step closer. He lifts his hand, hesitating, then reaches for Bucky’s free hand. 

Bucky can imagine the image they make. When an older woman walks towards them, her face scrunches up in a coo. “Your sons are adorable, you boys have a good night” she says, passing them. 

“Thanks ma’am,” Bucky blushes. This isn’t the first time someone has referred to them as a family. Hell, the papers he got for them has them listed as such, the Grant family. He looks down at Charles in his arms. His hair has finally grown out enough to cover the scar. Bucky presses his nose against Charles’s temple. There’s a fire in his chest he hasn’t felt since the 40s, a fierce protectiveness that burns. 

Family, he thinks, looking between Erik and Charles, sons. He tightens his grip and continues the walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. The next chapter is really long though.


	9. Our Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik remembers

## Chapter Nine: Our Island

Charles wakes to screaming. He bolts out of bed. Erik’s side is empty. Frantic, he bursts into the hall and follows the screaming into Bucky’s room.

It isn’t until he is standing at the bedside that he notices there is no sound. Bucky has thrown off the comforter and gotten the sheets twisted around his waist. His head is thrashing from side to side, face a grimace of pain, but he isn’t screaming, not out loud anyways. His screaming is mental, and the sound scratches into Charles’s brain, claws hooking deep. He presses a shaking hand to his brow and pushes away the torment. 

Bucky stills before coming awake with a gasp. His arm whirs, metal plates clicking together as he sits up. The gaze he turns on Charles is horrifyingly blank, the Winter Soldier lurking, but then his gaze softens. “You woke me up.” 

“Yes,” Charles whispers. _‘You were screaming.’_

Bucky runs his hand over his face, heaving a sigh. His eyes are bloodshot when he faces Charles. “I’m sorry.” 

Charles shakes his head, “Don’t be, I’m glad I could help.” 

Bucky reaches out and Charles goes to him, tucking himself under his arm. His skin is sleep warm and slick with fear sweat, but Charles finds comfort in the steady thrum of Bucky’s heart. 

“It’s fine Erik, it was just me,” Bucky is saying. 

Charles opens his eyes to find Erik in the doorway, he’s radiating concern and restrained violence. He has a gun. “Erik,” he chides. 

“You were scared,” Erik says as if that is all the reason he needs. He floats the gun out of his palm and drifts it over to the nightstand. 

Bucky shakes his head, but he has a wry smile. “No, it’s a good habit to have. You should always be ready to defend yourself.” He tilts his head back and grumbles, “God I’m going to hell.” 

Erik takes a seat on the bed, pulling his feet up so he can face them. “You should train us.”

Charles looks between them. “Why? They aren’t following us anymore. They think we’re dead.” 

Erik leans forward, “We can’t be sure Charles, and they may not be our only enemies.” 

Bucky sighs, shifting them both so they can better face Erik. “I’m afraid he’s right Charles. I put you two at risk simply by being here and with your powers…” He looks at the gun on his night stand. “I want the two of you to be safe. The best way to do that is to teach you how to protect yourselves.” 

Leaning back, Charles taps his temple, _‘I can protect myself.’_

“Not if they’re wearing those helmets,” Erik snarls. 

Charles lifts his legs up, curling around them in a protective ball. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispers. 

Bucky pulls him into a one-armed hug. “You won’t. I swear it. You won’t.” 

***

That weekend Bucky takes them into the mountains to train. There is miles and miles of wilderness to choose from. Charles finds the scenery beautiful, but Erik is radiating irritation fierce enough to give him a headache. Out on the trail, the only metal in the area is Bucky’s arm. 

Charles can sense the metal through Erik, he’s clinging to it desperately, the strange alloy that sings across his senses. Charles sends him a soft pulse of affection and gets a grudging one in return. He would normally be equally out of sorts this far from the city, but with Erik and Bucky his mind is content. 

Bucky leads them to a trailhead shrouded in shadow by the overhanging trees. He’s giving off a strange combination of emotions. Charles can’t quite decipher them, but he imagines they are similar to his own mixed feelings on training. 

“We’re going to start with trail running. Follow me and try to keep up. The key to evasion is to be quick in any terrain. Keeping sure footed could be the difference between life or death.” Bucky clenches and unclenches his fist, the servos whirring. 

“That’s it, that’s what we’re starting with? Running?” Erik scowls.

Bucky laughs, “Trail running at 10,000 feet above sea level. Trust me cowboy, just try and keep up.” He gives a challenging smirk and takes off. 

Erik is a foot taller than Charles, his longer legs giving him a good start. Charles gets stuck in the back from the beginning. At the start he keeps up alright, trailing behind by a few feet, but Bucky bounds through the trail like a deer. 

The path is small and moves at a steady incline, rocks and stumps stick out of the ground at random intervals, ready to trip him up. He struggles to keep an eye in front of him and on the ground. 

Bucky keeps a steady pace, but Charles can tell he isn’t even breaking a sweat. He leaps over the treacherous parts of the trail without pause, his gaze never shifting to his feet. They haven’t even made it a mile when Charles lungs start to burn. His legs aren’t tired, but his side feels slashed open. He stumbles to a stop, leaning against a tree at the side of the path. The bark scratches his neck, but it’s shade cool and sturdy. 

“Hey, breathe there buddy, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and steady,” Bucky is there, a hand on his back. Erik hovers behind him, panting hard and dripping sweat.

“This,” Charles wheezes, “is harder than I thought.” 

Erik nods in agreement. 

Bucky looks between them. He doesn’t say I told you so, but it’s written loud and clear across his face. “Come on, you need to walk it off,” he leads Charles along with an arm at his back. 

They walk along the path until Charles catches his breath and his heart slows to a reasonable measure. 

“You ready to start again?” 

Charles nods. 

Bucky takes off again, but this time Erik stays at Charles side. He finds it easier to match his pace and breathing to his friend’s. He tries to clear his mind, just concentrate on his breathing. It helps, but his lungs still ache. 

Bucky switches them between running and walking every half mile, by the time they make it back to the car Erik and Charles are leaning heavily against one another. 

Charles has never been so exhausted in his life. _‘I think I’m dying.’_ He’s too tired to even speak. 

“Yeah,” Erik gasps, “running. Who knew?” 

Bucky, who is neither breathing hard nor sweating, rolls his eyes. “We’ll keep practicing, you’ll get better and it will be easier. Let’s go home.” 

Over the next week Bucky trains and teaches them, it is exhausting, but it is a purpose. Charles and Erik get better at the trail running, breathing better and walking less. They practice shooting, a task Charles actually enjoys when the targets are paper. He is rather surprised, however, that the range attendant doesn’t so much as blink at an 8 year old using a gun. 

Bucky gives them each a knife to keep on their person at all times. It is a small foldaway blade, but deadly if used properly. Training is natural to the old soldier, he’s in his element teaching them how to hide, how to fight, how to survive. It’s the more prosaic lessons that give him trouble. 

After buying a computer and hacking the neighbor's wifi, they learn using a variety of sites. Charles’s favorite becomes Khan Academy when he accidently clinks on a video for Mendelian Genetics. He loves the idea of it, inheritance of traits passed from parent to offspring, of mutations that can completely change an organism with just a few altered amino acids. Charles is enamored by the concept much to Bucky and Erik’s chagrin.

It turns out that if Charles enters the mind of someone as they read, he can recognize the written words after. It makes learning to read much easier than expected. He offers to help Erik using a similar method, but isn’t surprised when his friend declines, determined to figure it out himself. 

They settle into a schedule with relative ease. Bucky works 8 hours a day 5 days a week, so they all wake up early and go for a run or use the apartment’s gym. After, Bucky goes to work and they study. They have a curriculum for their age groups from online, but mostly they follow whatever interests them. 

Charles loves the sciences, moving between biology and chemistry and genetics. He also discovers a great love of reading once he’s figured it out, and always has a stack of library books on hand. 

Erik decides to tackle his lower reading level by studying history at the same time. He reads history books from all eras, but likes WWII the best. He reads article after article on the concentration camps, and the people killed simply for being different. He also reads about the cruel experiments done to the prisoners. 

Charles hates reading those, they give him nightmares of the whitecoats cutting into his brain. Though they just seem to make Erik angry, which isn’t much better considering the strain his anger puts on the electronics. 

When Bucky gets home he teaches his version of survival tips. Things like how to pick a lock or throw a knife or build a bomb from household cleaning supplies. On the weekends they go back out to the mountains and learn how to track and how to hide. It is exhausting and mad and wonderful. 

Then, there is the day Erik remembers his mother. 

***

It happens a month into their training. 

Charles wakes when he feels Erik getting out of the bed. The dip in the mattress doesn’t usually bother him, but he’s sore from their run the day before and his calves protest any movement. He groans, rolling over to bury his head under the pillow. 

What could be seconds or hours laters, Erik is back. “Hey, wake up.” He gives Charles’s shoulder a gentle shake. Charles swats at him, but he refuses to open his eyes so he mostly misses. He stayed up later than usual the night before reading ‘Origin of Species’ and it’s coming back to bite him. 

“Come on, Bucky’s taking us to work.” 

Charles is curious enough to open an eye. “We’re going to work?”

Erik rolls his eyes. “We aren’t actually working. He’s just taking us to visit, see the shop and the people he works with.” 

Sitting up, Charles rubs the sleep from his eyes. “When did he say that?” 

Erik doesn’t roll his eyes again, but Charles can tell he wants to. “Last night. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” 

“Alright, alright,” Charles slides off the bed with an ‘umf’, the ache in his legs reminding him that he doesn’t want to do lunges ever again. 

Neither of them have ever been to the shop, so Charles isn’t sure why he is surprised by the building. He isn’t sure what he expected from the place Bucky works at, but it is rather nondescript. The shop is one long building with three garage doors in the side and a waiting room/office in the front. The sign over the door is black text on a white background and reads, ‘Automotive Repair.’ “The shop doesn’t have a name?” Charles asks.

Bucky looks up at the sign like he’s never even noticed it. He shrugs, “We just call it The Shop, I don’t think Rick’s granddad was all that creative. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

They go in the front door. The waiting room is to the right, 4 seats around an old tv and an even older coffee pot. The front desk is a plain grey box with a generic desktop computer, which makes the woman sitting behind the desk stand out that much more. Charles knows enough now to tell the difference between business and casual dress, and the women is dressed in sharp grey slacks, a red blouse that compliments her darker tone, and a fitted black vest. Between the care taken in her dark curls and light eyeshadow, she looks like she should be ruling over a law office. 

“Ruby,” Bucky greets with an incline of his head. 

“James,” she smiles, the gesture soothing away the fierceness of her features. Her eyes light up when she catches sight of them. “Are these your boys?” She hops from her chair and comes over to them. Standing, the top of her head barely reaches Bucky’s shoulders. 

Bucky gestures, “Charles and Erik.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Erik steps forward and offers his hand. 

Charles can tell Ruby is biting back a laugh when she takes his hand. He has to hide his own smile, Erik is always so serious. “Hello,” he greets on his turn, grinning. 

“Ruby runs the shop, if it wasn’t for her we’d be sitting on our hands with nothing to fix,” Bucky announces with a wave at the desk. 

Charles takes another look and notices that while the desk is covered in paperwork and office supplies, they are all ordered with military neatness. Curious, he takes a glance at her mind, nothing too deep, just surface thoughts. He can tell she is truly excited to meet them, but also that she is running through the day’s schedule and the tax paperwork she’s working on. Her mind is a pleasantly ordered set of lists and numbers, her concentration constantly on multiple objectives. 

“I’ll let you get back to work, just showing them around.” 

“Yeah, I need to finish a few things. Sorry boys, I’ll see you for lunch,” Ruby promises, heading back to her desk. 

Bucky gives her another tip of his head, like he should be wearing a hat, before leading them into the back. The garage is nosy, the constant buzz of the air pump and the hiss of the machinery on top of pounding music. There is only one car in the garage at the moment, a Subaru in the first bay. The car has been hoisted up a foot and Charles can just see someone’s legs sticking out from under it. 

Flicking the stereo off, Bucky goes over and gives the cart the person is lying on a little kick. 

There is an angry, “Hey!” The cart squeaks as the person comes out. Her anger diminishes the moment she spots Bucky. “Oy, James. You jerk. You’re late,” She grumbles punching him on the shoulder. 

“I’m thirty minutes early,” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Late,” she snarks, grinning. “Oh! Are these your boys?” she asks, distracted. 

“Erik, Charles,” Bucky introduces, “This is Rita.” 

“Finally,” Rita gives Bucky’s shoulder another punch. This would worry Charles if she wasn’t all of 5 feet, she’s stocky though and reminds him of a pit bull, both bark and bite. “I was starting to think you were making them up to get Dad to stop regaling you with the wonders of fatherhood.” 

“School,” Charles steps in, Bucky gives him a grateful look. “Dad was getting us sorted with school. It’s a bit of a process.” The word rolls out of his mouth with surprising ease, Dad. The shock from Erik and Bucky is so strong he has to grab onto one of the tool boxes for support. He takes a deep breath and strengthens his shields, pushing away the emotions and hoping Rita doesn’t notice anything. 

She doesn’t, instead she nods. “Ugg paperwork. Thank god I don’t have kids,” she gives them an apologetic look, “Er, no offense.” 

“None taken,” Erik steps beside Charles, surreptitiously placing a steadying hand on his back. “What’s wrong with it?” Erik asks, directing the conversation to the car Rita was working on. 

“Catalytic converter,” she pats the hood. “It doesn’t much affect the performance of the car, but can’t pass emissions with a broken one.” 

“Emissions?” Charles asks. 

“Hmm,” Rita taps her chin, searching for the words. “It’s an environmental thing. The government making sure cars are less environmentally hazardous then they could be. The converter helps reduce harmful emissions.” 

“I have an engine on the block if you want to see it?” Bucky offers. 

“Yeah, give them a proper education James,” Rita waves them off, “Come by later boys and I’ll show you the converter when I have it out.” 

“Thanks, Rita.” Bucky leads them over to the third bay where the noise is less deafening. Pushed to the side is something that looks like a metal crane, a car engine hoisted at the end of the arm in thick chains. 

Erik runs his fingers over the engine, not quite touching. Even with his shields up, Charles can feel his powers thrumming. It is an excellent distraction, and helps him ignore the searching look he can feel Bucky giving him. 

“There’s something twisted in it,” Erik says, brow scrunched. 

“We’re pretty sure there are a few things messed up with it, but you’re probably feeling the damage to the camshaft,” Bucky answers. 

Charles wonders if he offended him, but when Bucky passes by him to kneel at Erik’s side, he is radiating a mix of joy and dread. Charles takes another deep breath before heading over to listen to Bucky’s explanation of pistons and cylinders. 

The morning seems to go smoothly from there. Bucky takes the engine apart for them, explaining the different pieces and what they do. He also changes the oil on a few cars that come in. Charles watches him and Erik shimmy under the cars, curious about the process, but uninterested in getting covered in grease. 

When it is time for lunch, Erik’s face and hands are filthy, but he’s grinning widely and buzzing with pleased contentment. The shop practically shuts down as they head for the break room. Two men they haven’t met yet are already inside laying out a platter of sandwiches, and Rita and Ruby are right behind them. 

The older of the two men looks them over with a smile that can only be described as fond. “I thought with our special guests we could have a bit of a family lunch,” he gives them a wink.

“Thanks Rick, this is Erik and Charles.” Bucky gestures to the two men, “this is Rick who owns the shop and Claro, who is a freeloader.” 

Claro, who looks to be in his twenties, sputters. “Hey I was working out back.”

“Hmm on that old Chevy, did it dissolve into rust yet?” Bucky teases. 

Rick laughs and claps the younger man on the shoulder. “He’s got you there.” 

Claro huffs, but doesn’t look terribly offended. “Clearly,” he smirks, “your boys take after their mother, you jerk.”

Erik goes still. It isn’t noticeable to anyone else, but Charles is always attuned to Erik. He can sense the way every muscle in his body seems to stiffen. Even his mind stills, though Charles can hear the buzz of something, memories struggling to break free. 

Without hesitation, Charles grabs Erik’s hand, it’s sticky with grease, but he ignores it. Erik doesn’t even glance at him, so Charles squeezes and squeezes until the pain pulls Erik back. He winces, shooting Charles a questioning glance. 

_‘Sorry, you went away for a bit.’_ Charles relaxes his grip. 

_‘I’m fine,’_ Erik lies. 

The adults purposefully ignore the interaction, but Charles can feel the stab of guilt from Claro. He wonders what Bucky told them about their history, probably that their mother is dead. True enough, he supposes. 

After lunch Erik can’t seem to focus. He keeps looking off into the distance, gaze unseeing. Around two, after the third time a wrench has mysteriously leapt from the toolbox, Bucky calls it quits and asks Rick if they can leave early. 

They head back to the apartment in silence, by the time they get through the door Erik is shaking. 

“What’s wrong? What can I do?” Bucky asks, kneeling in front of him. 

“You’re not my dad!” Erik snarls flinging his hand out. 

The gesture throws Bucky to the ground, his metal arm giving an ominous whine. The kitchen light flares and shatters. 

Charles takes a step, but is held back by indecision. He doesn’t know what to do or who to comfort. Bucky doesn’t look angry, he looks slapped, his eyes wide with hurt. Erik is boiling with rage, but there are tears blooming in his eyes. 

“I know that Erik,” Bucky says, voice surprisingly steady. He stays sitting. Charles can hear the plates of his arm clacking. 

“I had a father,” Erik growls, “and a mother. I had a mother.” He bites off a sob, tears staining his cheeks. 

Charles had known, of course, that Erik had a family, but the memories have always seemed locked away. They have broken free now, though. Charles is getting flashes of a woman, brown hair and brown eyes, her face is fuzzy with faded memory, but still so kind. It takes the sharp sting of salt on his lips for him to realize that he’s crying too. 

He looks to Bucky, because looking at Erik is too painful, but Bucky has the glazed look on his face of a man familiar with pain and retreating into the hidden corners of his mind until it passes. “You’re hurting him, Erik stop!” Charles shouts, turning back to his friend. 

Erik has his arm outstretched, fingers splayed and shaking. Beyond the rage he looks...lost. Charles’s shouting does nothing to halt the assault, so he does the next thing that comes to mind. He tackles Erik. 

If Erik had been expecting it, it never would have worked, but as it is, they both go tumbling to the ground. His powers dissipate, the lights steady and Bucky’s arm stops making that horrible whine. Erik’s still struggling, lost in a rush of memories. 

“I’m so sorry,” Charles whispers and presses his fingers to his temple. 

The tumble down is sudden and painful. He’s dragged into the memories, the current of emotion running over him, drowning him. He has to focus, center his mind, he’s not a rock cutting through the flow, but a leaf brought along. 

He’s in a garage, the scent of motor oil and grease as strong as it was at the shop. The memory is washed out in greys and browns, the actual color of things lost to time. There is a car in the center of the room and a man working under it. He’s keeping up a steady commentary, but his words are muddled background noise. There is another man, standing in front of the car in a nice suit, arms crossed over his chest in impatience. 

Erik, young and so very small, is sitting on the steps that lead into the house. He’s ignoring the adults, focusing instead on the yo-yo his papa gave him. It’s mostly plastic, but inside he can feel the spin of ball-bearings. It’s hypnotic, every part of him attuned to the rise and fall, the up and down of the metal. 

There is a part of him, however, that must be focused on the car. He feels the metal give, the screech of an improperly placed jack giving way. He flings his arm up, fingers curled, and pulls the cart his father is resting on out from under the car. A moment later the jack crashes and the car comes slamming down. 

Papa is focused on the car, wide eyed and breathing hard. 

The other man, however, is looking at Erik. Erik who even so young recognizes danger in that gaze. 

The thoughts blur and refocus. He’s in a room, Erik’s room with the metal bed and the wooden toy chest his dad had made by hand. Erik is opening the door with agonizing stillness, careful not to make a sound. He slips down the hall on all fours, and scurries under the side table in the living room. It’s a hiding spot he’s used before, hidden on three sides by couches and wall. 

He can hear his parents, they sound furious. There’s another voice, steady and calm. The man from the garage. He can’t make out their words, but suddenly his mom is yelling. His mama who never, ever raises her voice is practically snarling. “Get out of my house!” 

Erik scurries back to his room, unwilling to face that wrath if he’s found eavesdropping. He has just slipped under his covers when he hears the door creak open. His heart speeds, a clench of fear in his gut, but he relaxes when he smells the familiar scent of his mama’s perfume, like roses in springtime. 

She brushes her hand over his brow, and Erik can’t help but lean into the cool comfort of her touch. “Mama,” he mumbles, cracking open an eye. 

“Shh, go to sleep liebling,” she whispers, kissing his brow. 

He snuggles into the covers, taking a deep breath of the perfume that has always meant home and safety and love. “Love you mama.” 

“Love you too, liebling,” she brushes back his hair again, the long fringe that never stays down. When the door closes, he’s already halfway to sleep. 

The vision shifts again and they are outside. Erik is perched on the stoop, tossing his baseball to the ground and trying to get it to bounce back up. He’s having little success. 

The sound of a car coming makes him look up with a grin. It’s Papa, pulling into his customary spot on the road because their driveway is always filled with cars he is working on. He steps out and places a drink carton on the top of the car, the milkshakes he promised to get when he went into town. 

“Cookies and Creme, Papa?” he asks, tossing his ball to the side and standing. 

“No, mint,” Papa teases. 

Erik scrunches his face and sticks his tongue out, laughing. Down the road he can make out headlights. 

Papa turns and waves, always polite though he can’t possibly see the driver behind the glare of the lights. There is a roar of an engine, the screech of tires, and a heavy thump. It happens so fast, the car is there and gone. 

Erik runs over, screaming. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying just yelling, for help maybe or Mama. He kneels down beside Papa. There is blood on his lips and dripping from his nose, but very little blood anywhere else. He thinks that might be a good thing before he sees his chest. It looks...crushed. The shape isn’t right at all, Papa’s breaths leak out of him, jagged whistles. 

“Papa,” he cries, hands hovering over him, too afraid to touch. 

Arms like steel cables wrap around him, pulling him back. He screams, wordless rage, kicking and punching at whoever has him. There is pain at his neck, the sharp jab of a needle. The memory smudges even more at the edges. 

The screen door slams, and he can just make out Mama running towards him. She grabs his baseball bat, the sturdy metal one he always leaves out in the yard even though she tells him not too. 

Even as unconsciousness claws at him, he thinks she looks like one of the characters in his cartoons, a vengeful hero. The gunshot is muffled, he can feel the projectile, the sharp sting of it cutting through the air as if he is the bullet, but he cannot reach for it. 

There is a splash of blood splatter, the crunch of shattered bone. Mama falls. 

He struggles, straining against the hold of both arms and sedative, but they are too strong. Dark figures cross his vision and there is the musty stink of gasoline. The last thing he sees is the orange flicker of flames devouring his home. 

Charles rolls off Erik, head turned away and tries to stop himself from throwing up everything he has ever eaten. When he thinks he can move without being sick, he shifts so his back is pressed against the wall. 

Erik is still on the ground, blinking rapidly against the tears streaming down his face. He pushes himself into a sitting position with some struggle, his arms shaking. He looks at Bucky then at Charles before turning his gaze to his lap. He squeezes his eyes shut and chokes back a sob. 

Bucky, with more bravery than Charles can fathom, stands and walks over to Erik. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer meaningless words, he just pulls Erik into a hug. 

Erik stiffens, body taut and ready for a fight, but soon goes limp, collapsing against Bucky’s chest and sobs. Charles stays back at first, feeling oddly out of place, but Bucky gestures him over. He goes gratefully, curling around Erik and leaning into the comfort of Bucky’s arms. 

Erik’s sobs slowly abate, becoming harsh gasps before petering off to the occasional sniffle. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice hoarse. He leans back from where he had been pressed against Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t be, no harm done. I’m the one who should be sorry Erik. It was easier to claim you both as my sons, but I didn’t ever ask how you felt about that.” 

“I had forgotten about them,” Erik gulps. “They died to protect me, and I forgot them.” 

“Hey,” Bucky lift’s Erik’s chin so they are looking eye to eye. “The mind is a strange thing, sometimes we forget as a way to protect ourselves, but you remember now.” 

“I won’t let you forget again,” Charles promises, placing a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I’ll guard them for you, keep them safe.” 

Erik turns to face him, his eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed. “I don’t even remember their names.” 

“Mama and Papa,” Charles says, fierce, “and those are the only names that matter.” 

Erik takes a shuddery breath and leans back into Bucky. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t my dad.” 

“Oh Erik,” Bucky sighs, eyes starting to shine with tears. “I could never, nor would I try, to replace your parents.” 

Erik presses his face into Bucky’s coveralls, shaking his head. “No,” his voice is muffled by the fabric, “you are our dad in every way that matters.”

Erik has his face covered, but Charles sees the look that crosses Bucky’s face before he closes his eyes against the swell of emotion. He takes a deep breath before standing, pulling them with him. It is amazing, the ease at which he can still carry the two of them. 

Charles, squeaks, clinging to his shoulder in surprise. Bucky takes them into the bedroom, setting Charles on the bed first so he can use both hands to settle Erik under the covers. 

“Not a baby,” Erik grumbles, even as he snuggles into the pillows. 

“I know,” Bucky chuckles, ruffling his hair. 

Charles crawls over to Erik, curling around his side and pressing his nose into his shoulder. 

“You saw everything didn’t you?” Erik sighs. 

Charles nods into the crook of his neck. “M’sorry.”

“No,” Erik curls his arm around Charles’ shoulders, “thank you.” He relaxes back into the pillows and in moments is asleep. 

Charles looks up when the bed dips. Bucky has changed out of his mechanics uniform, switching to a loose shirt and shorts. He slips into the other side of the bed, so they guard Erik between them. Even with his work clothes gone, Bucky smells like engine grease and metal with a hint of old cologne from the stuff he puts in his hair. Charles thinks of how the rose scent of Erik’s Mama’s perfume had meant home and safety. 

“One of the people from the lab offered to buy Erik,” Charles murmurs. 

Bucky stretches his arm out so he can pull them both into his side. “They said no.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Charles still nods. “I think my parents said yes.” 

Bucky’s arm tightens around them. “You know I would never do that, right? If Hydra, if anyone, comes for you I’ll kill them. You’re my boys, I won’t let anyone hurt you, not if I can help it.” 

Charles stretches out so his arm lays atop Bucky’s. “I know Dad, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm posting this so late, I almost forgot. This chapter ended up a lot longer and more emotional than I ever intended.


	10. Hope is Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening news changes everything

## Chapter Ten: Hope is Dangerous

**  
**  
_Eight Years Later…_  


Erik takes a step back from the Jeep, the last of the repairs finally complete. With the car raised up on one of the lifts - Rick had finally broken down and purchased some - he can see the entire underside of the car. He gives it one last look, his senses stretching out over the metal, checking seals and bolts and belts. There are a few loose bolts he tightens with a thought, but otherwise the Jeep is in top shape. 

“You know you can’t fix it just by glaring at.” 

Erik turns, fixing Ruby with a toothy smile, “That’s what you think.” He wipes his grease stained palms on the thighs of his coveralls, just to see her grimace. “It’s fixed, I was just giving it a once over.” 

“Oh good, I’ll tell the customer. Want to drive it up front for them?” Ruby gives his pants a side-longed look.

“I’ll put down plastic, stop fretting.” He steps out from under the car and clicks the mechanism to lower it slowly back to the ground, the moving gears is a pleasant hum across his senses. 

Ruby rolls her eyes at his antics, but doesn’t argue. “You and your dad can head out after this if you want, it’s almost closing anyways.”

“Thanks, I’ll go find him after this.” Ruby heads back to the front while Erik lays down plastic, like he promised, and parks the car out front for the customer. He finds Bucky lobbing tires into inventory. They aren’t so heavy that it would look suspicious to an outsider, but Bucky isn’t even sweating. 

“Hey Dad, Ruby said we’re good to go.”

Bucky tosses the last tire onto the pile before turning to face him. “Sounds good, is Charles around?” 

Erik quirks a brow, “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.” 

Bucky snorts, “School?”

“School.” 

“I wish he’d just enroll, he’s had his GED since last year.” Bucky leads the way to their car, a ford truck he bought a few years ago when their old car finally gave up the ghost. 

“Oh, you know Charles, ‘it’ll be too much of a paper trail out there, what if they find us,” Erik scoffs, hopping into the passenger’s seat.

“He’s not wrong.” The truck starts with a rumble, diesel engine purring. 

“I know that,” Erik snaps, “I’m irritated because Charles thinks we wouldn’t take the risk for him.” 

Bucky taps his fingers on the wheel, “Hmm, it's a bit of a Catch-22.”

Erik resists the urge to roll his eyes. Bucky read the book a few months ago and is still using that phrase every chance he gets. Not that Erik can blame him, it was the first WWII novel Bucky has ever seemed to enjoy. “I’ll go pick him up when we get home. You know how he forgets food is a requirement to existence.” 

“You want the truck?” 

“Naw, I’ll take my bike, I can use the trail.” 

“Hurry back, I’m making tacos,” Bucky grins, pulling into their usual spot at the apartments.

Erik mock gasps, “What? It isn’t Tuesday.” 

Bucky winks, “I know, we’re living on the wild side.” 

Erik snorts, “You’re terrible.” He doesn’t bother changing out of his coveralls, just grabs his bike from the patio and takes off down the path. His cyclocross, his very first purchase with his first paycheck, handles the transition from road to dirt with relative ease. He cheats a bit, pushing the bike along with his powers. 

He makes good time to the University, locking his bike up at one of the many stands outside the science building. From there, Erik closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaching out along the bond. He’s sure from the outside his looks mad, but this is a college in Boulder, anyone watching will probably just think he’s meditating or high, possibly both. 

The bond is as strong as it has always been, but the openness they once shared has lessened, shields built up to grant privacy. Erik is grateful for the protection the shields grant him, even if it does take a more conscious effort to find Charles. He feels the bond take hold, a warmth settling into his chest, tugging him in the right direction. 

He follows without thought, heading into the science building, dodging students lost in books, and a gaggle chatting about the horror of their most recent exam. He finds Charles in one of the large lecture halls. Whatever class had been in session has long left, but Charles is next to the podium, talking animatedly to an older women, presumably the teacher. 

Erik clumps down the stairs. Charles doesn’t even glance in his direction. “Charles,” he calls. 

The teacher shoots him a curious look, probably wondering about his grease stained uniform and how he knows Charles. They had looked a bit alike as kids, but puberty had made Erik tall and wiry with a red tint to his hair. Charles is half a foot shorter and his hair is a lighter, honey brown. Erik’s face had grown sharper, all angles, while Charles still retains the rounded softness that makes him easy to trust even without his powers. 

Charles finally turns at the sound of his name, “Erik.” His greeting is all smiles, dimples marking his cheeks and eyes wrinkling with mirth. 

Erik has to swallow down the urge to say, or worse do, something stupid. Though what he says isn’t much better, “Dad’s making tacos.” 

Charles, bless him, doesn’t notice Erik being a blundering idiot. “Oh, splendid, “ he grins, still with that strange british accent that had been a part of mental voice. He turns back to the professor, a fetching blush darkening his cheeks, “Forgive me for carrying on, I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.” 

“Nonsense,” the women waves him off. “I wouldn’t be teaching genetics if I didn’t enjoy talking about it, besides it is a delight to find a student with so much passion for the subject. I do hope you enroll in this class next term.” 

“I’ll certainly try,” Charles waves goodbye, but his smile has waned along the edges. 

“She thinks you’re, what, a freshman?” Erik asks when they are back in the halls. 

“Yes,” Charles sighs, “They all do. Just finishing up the prerequisite classes, and sitting in on lectures to decide what I want to do.” 

“You know you could…” he trails off. 

“I know,” and Charles gives him that tender smile he reserves just for Erik. 

Erik sighs, but stays silent. They ride their bikes back, Charles has his own cyclocross, Erik’s second purchase with his paycheck. He had tried to decline the gift, but had given in with the prospect of making the trip to the University and back so much faster. 

Even with Erik cheating and using his powers on both their bikes, it’s still dark by the time they get back. 

“Hey Dad, smells great,” Charles calls when they walk through the door. 

The whole house smells like ground beef and taco seasoning, the table is set and there is a plate of diced onions, lettuce, and tomato in the center. Everything must be ready, because Bucky is in the living room. He hasn’t bothered to turn any lights on yet, so the TV sends splashes of color across the room. 

“What movie is this?” Erik asks, stepping around so he can see then TV. It looks like some alien movie, but he doesn’t recognize it. “I hate this new shaky cam stuff,” he grumbles, watching as the camera pans wildly from alien to alien. “Are those flying, armored whales?” 

Bucky is watching the TV transfixed, his eyes are wide and jaw dropped. He doesn’t seem to even notice that he has one of the kitchen towels across his knee. 

“Dad,” Charles calls, coming to stand next to Erik. His brow is scrunched in concern. 

“I…” Bucky starts, he turns to them like his neck has gone rusty. “It isn’t a movie.” 

Erik takes a closer look at the screen, sees the news stream running at the bottom. “It’s just one of those fake news things I’m sure,” he says, grabbing the remote and changing to one of the local news channels. “See it’s just…” The same thing is playing. He tries another channel and another, but it is all the same. The same clips over and over again. Aliens in New York. 

“That’s not,” Charles pauses, the last word a whisper, “possible.” 

The screen shows Ironman fighting, who Erik recognizes from past news stories. Everyone knows about Tony Stark. There is a woman he doesn’t know, moving with lithe grace as she destroys the creatures in moves so smooth they look choreographed. There are flashes of a man with what looks like a bow and arrow of all things, but no one can seem to get a good view of him. They see glimpses of someone in a red cape that appears to be flying. One of the videos that keeps replaying is the Hulk, a raging green monster that once destroyed Harlem, now taking down one of the impossible flying whales. 

Erik falls into the seat beside Bucky with a thump. Charles follows. The screen is a whir of colors, showing strange creatures that must be aliens riding on something that looks like a cross between a motorcycle and a hovercar. The camera pans shakily before stopping on a figure that makes Charles gasp. 

The man is dressed in a suit of bright blue with stripes of red and white. He has a helmet covering the top portion of his face, the sides etched with tiny wings. He wields a shield of red, white, and blue, the center emblazoned with a star. Erik knows that shield, has seen it thousands of time in history books and shared in memories from Charles who in turn got them from Bucky. 

Since their first conversation about Steve, Erik has learned much more, Bucky sharing stories as he remembers them. He now knows that Bucky was born in Brooklyn back in the 1910s, a young scrapper that made friends with little Steve Rogers, a child so prone to illness that he should have been placed in an isolation ward for his own protection. Instead, Steve had picked a fight with every bully and ne’er-do-well in the city, and Bucky fought alongside him, the inseparable duo. 

Except they had been separated, Bucky pulled into WWII through the draft and Steve left behind. Bucky, who Erik thinks may actually have worse luck than he and Charles, had gotten captured and experimented on by Nazis until Steve had come and rescued him. Steve, who had volunteered to be experimented on and had taken an untested serum that finally made his outsides match his insides. 

Erik always thought it sounded like something out of a comic, and had in fact read his fair share of Captain America comics, but he knows it to be true. The man on the TV looks a lot like Steve, though the uniform is all wrong. This one’s colors are much too bright, the previous uniform being tactical gear in much darker tones. In fact, it looks more like a costume than anything with a practical purpose. 

“Is that him?” He asks, turning to face Bucky. 

Bucky is sitting straight-backed and stiff, the fingers of his metal hand clenched into the couch cushion, ripping the fabric. He’s gone deathly pale. 

“Dad,” Erik calls, worried now. 

Bucky flinches. “I don’t...I don’t know,” he whispers, never taking his eyes of the screen. 

Erik knows the chances are slim, it has been over seventy years since Captain America drove a plane loaded with bombs into the arctic, but Bucky is here. With his own version of the serum and Hydra sticking him in cryo like a forgotten meal, Bucky has made it into the twenty-first century. Maybe Steve did too. 

“We need to go New York,” Charles pipes up, ever the optimist. He conveniently forgets the alien invasion. 

“No, it’s...we can’t just...no,” Bucky stutters, finally wrenching his gaze from the screen. 

“Charles is right,” Erik says, and relishes the look of surprise that produces. “We should go to New York.”

Bucky gestures at the screen. “There may not be a New York in a few hours. Have you lost your minds?” On the screen the battle rages, against the sky the camera focuses on a flash of red and gold. 

They all lean forward, argument momentarily forgotten. The camera man is yelling something, but it is lost in the surrounding noise, beneath the image the screen scrolls ‘nuclear warhead launched at New York City.’ 

“They can’t,” Bucky gasps, breathless. 

Whatever their intentions with the bomb, Ironman aims the rocket into the gaping portal looming over his tower. The portal shimmers and closes, only a flash of fire hinting at the disaster averted. Whatever the bomb had hit affects the still swarming aliens, they stop mid-air, plummeting to the ground in droves. 

Bucky lets out a breath and falls back into the couch. “What were they thinking?”

“Bureaucrats,” Erik spits. 

“Well,” Charles starts, eyes still glued to the TV, watching Iron Man being rescued by the Hulk of all things. “We can go to New York now.” 

Bucky stands up in a flurry. Erik can feel the plates of his arm flexing. “I’m going for a walk,” he announces and stomps out of the apartment. 

Charles moves to follow him, but Erik stops him. “Wait, give him some time to cool down, and then I’ll get him.” 

“It might not be Steve, but what if it is,” Charles turns the full force of his baby blues on Erik. 

“I know,” Erik agrees, “I’ll convince him. Why don’t you call Rick? I’ll get Dad.” 

Charles grins, bright and pleased and it makes warmth bloom in his chest. Erik hurries out of the house to hide his blush. 

He takes his time finding Bucky, but he doesn’t have to go far. He’s sitting at one of the park benches, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Erik absently wonders where he got it, taking a seat at his side. 

Bucky glances at him, but doesn’t say anything. Erik waits. The silence is comforting, broken only by the muffled sounds of the city at night and the occasional exhale of Bucky smoking. He finishes his cigarette with a few long drags, before tossing it to the ground, smashing the butt beneath his heel. 

“Hope,” Bucky says, and his voice has taken on the russian accent he gets when he is stressed, “is dangerous.” 

“It can be,” Erik agrees.

“He’s dead.” 

“Probably,” Erik nods, “but he might not be, and can you stand not knowing?”

The silence is deafening. 

Erik turns to fully face him and goes in for the kill. “He’s your Charles,” he growls and can only imagine the look he must have on his face. “If something like what happened to Steve happened to Charles, and I thought, even for a moment, that he might not be dead, I would tear the world apart getting to him.”

Bucky looks at him for a long time before his lips quirk into a slow smile. “I guess we’re going to New York.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be running all over the place tomorrow, so I thought I'd post this a day early. 
> 
> I know a bunch of you have been waiting for Steve to come in since basically the beginning. I felt kinda bad, because I always knew that it was going to be years down the road, but I can tell you that Steve will be in the next chapter.


	11. The Lost Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve.

## Chapter Eleven: The Lost Soldier

Bucky passes the ‘Welcome to New York’ sign just as dawn rises, two days after the news broadcast. The boys have been asleep for at least an hour. Erik is leaned up against the window and Charles, stuck in the middle seat, is leaned against him. 

It reminds Bucky of another road trip, he thinks of nine years ago. All of them running for safety and doubting it exists at the same time. Now they are heading to the site of what could have been armageddon, hunting for a dead man. 

The only cars heading into the city are military vehicles and new’s vans, but there are huge lines of cars heading in the opposite direction. Apparently the only event capable of getting New Yorkers to abandon town is an alien invasion. 

He parks on a relatively debris free street about 10 blocks from Stark Tower. Any closer and the road turns into a mess of broken buildings, strewn cars, and alien corpses. He has to shake off the shiver working up his spine, this reminds him of the war. 

Charles and Erik wake as the truck comes to a stop. The silence as the rumbling engine falls silent is unnerving. “My god,” Charles whispers, looking out at the destruction of the city. The streets are ghost empty, only the occasional passing military vehicle gives any hint of life. 

Bucky knows the death tolls, has been listening to the news nonstop. Over a thousand people had died in a matter of hours. He thinks of the nuclear warhead. It could have been much worse.

They step out of the vehicle, orientated to the tower in the distance, a flickering, blue A the only letter still standing. “I can sense a unique metal signature that way, like nothing I’ve ever felt, man-shaped. Most likely Iron Man,” Erik comments. 

Charles nods, “there is the most concentration of minds in that direction.” 

Bucky says nothing, just starts walking. It doesn’t take them long to traverse the 10 blocks. Even with the debris, it isn’t much different than hiking in the mountains. Bucky keeps his hand on the grip of his pistol, tense. The aliens may look dead, but he isn’t sure what exactly the blast did to them. 

When they come upon the clearing, it is quite jarring. One of the armored, whale-things had crashed into three buildings, sliding to a stop in the middle of a crossroads. The surrounding area is devastated, razed by the force of the fall and the ensuing shock wave. 

Three of the Avengers, as the news has dubbed them, are standing by the head of the monster. It is too far to hear their conversation, but judging by the amount of gesturing, Bucky would bet they are arguing. He can see the Steve look-a-like from here. The man has his hands on his hips, jaw set. The blue helmet from before is gone, and Bucky crumbles. 

He would have fallen to the ground, but Erik grabs him, holding him up, and when did his boys get so strong? “That’s him, that’s him,” Bucky can hardly hear himself over the roaring in his ears, but he keeps repeating the phrase, over and over. 

“Charles?” Erik interrupts. 

“As far as I can tell, yes. His memories match Bucky’s. He was,” Charles pauses, brow furrowed, “he was frozen, after the plane crash.” 

Bucky stands, shaking Erik off with a wince. The thought of being frozen brings up some rather unpleasant memories. He can’t believe Steve made it, but then again he isn’t sure why he is surprised, the stubborn punk. He takes a step forward, with the intent of saying… something, when the creature moves, bulk shifting with a screech. It’s great maw opens, all sharp edges and gaping darkness. 

The noise shuts off just as suddenly when a metal support beam falls from one of the standing piles of junk. The beam hits the creature in the head, skewering it through what would be the brain on anything earthly. The creature’s tail gives one last shudder, and falls still. 

The Avengers are looking at the mess with stunned awe. Bucky turns to the source. Erik has his arm outstretched, a smug grin on his lips. 

It is the woman with the red hair, the Black Widow, who turns in their direction first. Bucky thinks she looks really familiar, but shoves the idea away. His focus on Steve, who is turning towards them in response to the Black Widow. 

Steve freezes, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Bucky hasn’t seen him look that shocked since that time Mary Beth kissed him behind the General Store in thanks for Steve chasing off another bully. Something in that look helps him relax. 

“Go on then,” Charles whispers, and gives him a little push. 

Bucky shoots both of them a glare, but steps forward all the same. 

The rest of the Avengers look unsure, facilitating between waiting to see what will happen or attacking straight out. Bucky wants to keep a hand on his own gun, but lets his hands swing limp and empty at his sides. Charles and Erik are at his back anyways, guarding his six. 

Bucky stops a few feet from Steve, giving him plenty of space. The punk still has that punched look on his face. “Hey Stevie,” he gives a little wave. 

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, the name torn from him. 

Now Bucky feels punched, his chest tight and painful. It’s hard to breath. “I saw you on the news, I didn’t think…” Bucky has to take a deep breath, “I had to see if it was you.” 

Black Widow steps between them, giving him a look sharp enough to cut, “Зимний солдат.” 

“No,” Bucky snarls, taking a step back. “I’m not.” He clenches his fist, metal servos whirring, “Not anymore.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Tony Stark cuts in, the mask of the Iron Man suit lifting up to reveal his familiar face. “Is this some of Loki’s mojo, cause I thought the Big Guy had ‘em on lockdown? Or are you trying to tell me that my childhood hero Bucky Barnes is alive? Looking pretty spry for a ninety-year old.” 

Much like his father, Tony speaks in one great rush of nonsense. Bucky can’t help but smile at him. “No I’m really here. It’s a bit of a long story really, but I have a version of the stuff that fixed up Steve. It made me,” he pauses, trying to think of the right term, “harder to kill than most.” 

“And who are these then?” Black Widow asks, gaze moving over Erik and Charles. 

Bucky doesn’t like the way her gaze lingers. He knows that it is a clever interrogation technique, acting like she already knows the information she’s seeking. He cuts it off by turning his attention to Steve. “These are my sons. Charles and Erik,” he gestures to them, as if Steve had asked the question. 

Steve shakes himself out of his daze with a half smile, like his face hasn’t quite figured which expression it should settle on. “Sons? Thats,” he shakes himself again, smile finally quirking into a proper, blinding show of teeth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m, uh, I was, am, good friends with your dad.” 

Erik snorts, “Smooth there Champ. I can see why Dad likes you.” 

Bucky doesn’t turn to look, but he clearly hears Charles smack Erik upside the head. He has to bite back a grin. “Come on Punk, what is all this pleasure to meet you, crap. I don’t get a hug?” 

Steve laughs, a hoarse bark startled out of him as his shoulders finally relax. “Bucky,” he cries, and launches into his arms. 

Bucky had been around when Steve was still adjusting to his new body, and had been knocked flat more than once from an enthusiastic hug. He lets himself lean into it this time, taking Steve’s weight when his friend crashes into him. 

The Avengers tense, unsure how to react to this unexpected reunion, but there is no warning from Charles, so Bucky can actually enjoy the hug. He knows now, without a doubt, that this is Steve. He leans into his shoulder, into that ridiculous costume, and bites back a sob. 

“Well this is just lovely, I mean that, but, ah, Cap, you sure that’s your ole’ war buddy? I mean we did just take out an alien sorcerer that could control people’s minds with a magic stick.” Stark interrupts. 

Bucky pulls away, but is caught by Steve curling an arm around his shoulders. He has that stubborn ‘take on the world’ set to his jaw, glaring at his teammates. “This is Bucky.” 

“Perhaps,” the Black Widow agrees, giving him another of those unnerving once overs. “He’s a bit more than that, however. I think we should take this back to the tower, boys.” 

Bucky hesitates. He wants to get a chance to sit down and really talk with Steve, explain himself, but the tower was designed by Stark and that in itself makes it one of the most dangerous buildings in the world. 

_‘There is distrust, but none of them seem to have ulterior motives,’_ Charles offers. 

He shoots Erik a questioning look and gets a stiff nod in return. “Alright,” Bucky agrees, “to the tower.” 

“Good, great. I’ll meet you there. With a scotch. Yeah, definitely a scotch,” Tony flips his mask back down and takes off with a whine of repulsor power. Bucky watches him go, impressed. 

“We have to walk back, sorry,” Steve gestures to the tower, apologetic. 

Bucky raises a brow, looking pointedly at the tower that is only a few blocks away. “It ain’t a ruck through the Alps, buddy, I think we can manage.” 

Steve grins, pleased, “Jerk.” 

Bucky smirks, “Punk.”

The tower is in surprisingly good shape. There are a few windows broken along the length and the S,T,R, and K are in shambles about the entrance, but compared to the surrounding carnage, it looks great. Even the elevators are still operational. Steve and the Widow, who had introduced herself as Natasha, lead them all the way to the top floor. 

The main living area has clearly sustained damage. There is a crater in the floor beside the bar and broken windows have been covered over in blue tarps. Bucky takes it in with little interest, but he can see Erik giving a narrow eyed look at the walls. Considering that this is the home of Tony Stark, Bucky can only imagine the sort of metal he must be sensing.

There are two men perched on the couch in the middle of the trashed living room. One is dressed in black tac gear and has an array of arrows laid out on the table in front of him. Bucky recognizes him as Hawkeye. The other man is dressed in loose sweats, his hair a mess of curls like he just woke up, and he has legs curled up under him. Bucky doesn’t recognize him.

“Are you recruiting Cap?” Hawkeye asks, picking up one of the arrows and fiddling with the point. 

“This is Cap’s long lost boyfriend returned from the dead with their illegitimate love children,” Stark breezes into the room, a glass of scotch already in his grasp. He’s dressed in a skin tight shirt like the sort muscle-heads work out in and an equally skin tight pair of pants that look remarkably like yoga pants. Bucky imagines the outfit is designed for use with the armor, but he can’t hide his smirk at the get-up. 

Hawkeye sputters, “What?” 

“It ain’t like that,” Steve gripes, his brooklyn accent coming through by sheer proximity to Bucky. 

“I would like to know how it is,” Natasha comments dryly. She doesn’t look poised for a fight, but Bucky is pretty sure he remembers her now and knows that she is always ready for a fight. 

“Nat,” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off. 

“No, she’s right. I have no idea what all happened here, but I know my showing up out of the blue has to raise some questions. Plus I’ve,” Bucky sighs, “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of over the years and you deserve to know what happened.” 

“Ah Buck,” Steve looks fit to cry. 

“Come on Stevie,” Bucky takes a seat on the couch opposite Hawkeye. “You got time for a story? It’s a long one.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Tony butts in, collapsing into the cushions between Hawkeye and the other guy. Everyone picks a spot, Charles and Erik on either side of Bucky like a protection detail. Charles places a comforting hand on his arm, supportive and patient. Erik stays stiff and attentive, guarding them. 

Bucky feels a warm knot in his chest for his boys. “Well,” Bucky licks his lips, “it started when I fell off the the train. Well no. Before that, in Azzano. It started when they needed lab rats for an experimental serum…” The story is stilted and halting, but the Avengers sit and listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a heck of a time writing this chapter, there was such a big build up to it. I hope I don't disappoint.


	12. A Soldier’s Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is alive.

## Chapter Twelve: A Soldier’s Return

Bucky is alive.

Bucky is alive!

The thought repeats over and over, Steve’s mind stuck on a loop. He collapses into his bed, exhausted in ways he hasn’t been since getting out of the ice. Of course he hasn’t bothered to remove his uniform, so the red comforter - courtesy of Tony Stark and his many guest rooms - gets streaked with dirt. 

He grunts, irritated at his carelessness, and starts pulling off his uniform. The uniform SHIELD gave him is bright and garish, nothing like the faded tac gear he had worn in the war. Despite its ridiculous colors, however, the fabric had held up under an alien invasion, so it was at least sturdy. 

He stands in the center of the room, naked but for his boxers, and contemplates his next move. He wants to curl under the comforter of the cloud-soft bed he’s been given and sleep for about a week, but he smells of dirt and sweat. He also knows that with Bucky’s story running through his thoughts, he’s not likely to get any sleep tonight any how. 

Instead, he adds his boxers to the pile and goes into the ensuite. The bathroom, like all things Stark, is ostentatious and large enough that the first apartment he and Bucky shared together would probably have fit comfortably within it. He’s grateful for that Stark indulgence now though. The shower is massive, even for him, and there are enough showerheads lining the ceiling that he can fully fit beneath them. 

He turns the water scalding hot, letting steam fill the room. He makes no move to clean himself, just closes his eyes and lifts his face to the water. The heat goes a long way into relaxing tense muscles. He tries to clear his mind, but it’s a useless endeavour. The image of Bucky sitting on Stark’s couch, surrounded by his sons like sentires, is burned into his brain. 

Learning that Bucky had been changed in Azzano hadn’t been much of a surprise. He had suspected it almost as soon as they started serving together, but Bucky had screaming nightmares of the place on the rare nights that he actually decided to sleep. They were products of their generation, and so they had done what all men of their time did, they ignored it. 

He had never suspected that Bucky had survived that fall though. Not with how high up they had been and how quickly they’d been moving. Knowing now that Bucky had survived is a guilt he doesn’t think he will ever be able to get rid of. 

Bucky’s story had been horrifying. They had all listened in stunned silence as he explained being captured, tortured, and brainwashed into Hydra’s most effective killing machine. That had been a shock as well - Hydra was still out there. Bucky hadn’t explained everything, but he had touched on enough parts that Steve has to clench his fist to stop from punching the shower tile. 

He turns off the shower without having done anything more than stand beneath the spray, but the dirt is gone and he doesn’t smell like a warzone anymore, so he guesses that will do. Without any real destination in mind he tugs on a pair of black Stark Industries sweatpants and a white shirt that clings to his still wet skin. 

The elevator opens before he even presses the button. He shoots a glance at the camera in the corner and it’s blinking blue light. Stark had introduced them to JARVIS when he had given them guest rooms. The AI is like something out of those sci-fi mags Bucky used to read all the time, and he can’t decide if he is impressed or terrified. For now he decides to be grateful. 

The elevator drops a few floors, depositing him on an open floor filled with exercise equipment. There are treadmills, weights, and machinery he can’t identify. The floor is spongy grey rubber, with dashed lines along the edges of the room forming a track. A run sounds good, but first he moves to the corner with the hanging bags and other boxing equipment. 

At the first punch he feels a little better, at the second even better, by the third he’s settled into his stance and is lost in the steady pound of his fists. He attacks the bag with steady force for over an hour before he finally relents. The bag now has a nice dent, but has withheld amazingly well to super soldier strength. Another Stark invention, he thinks. 

When he turns around, already contemplating a run, he finds he is not alone. Bucky’s youngest son is a few feet away, perched on one of the weight benches. He’s clearly been watching for awhile and does nothing to hide his gaze. His eyes are the same shade of startling blue as Bucky’s. 

“Charles,” he greets, after an embarrassingly long time trying to recall his name. They had only been introduced the once, and Steve’s attention had been elsewhere at the time. 

“Steve,” he smiles, voice soft and oddly soothing. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m afraid I couldn’t sleep either.” 

He wonders if it was nightmares. Bucky had explained next to nothing about his sons, but Steve can read between the lines. He had explained that he escaped from Hydra nine years ago and has been living in Colorado ever since. The boys are clearly older, so they must have been with Bucky before and during the escape. Steve tries to shove away thoughts of a Winter Soldier … breeding program. 

Charles winces, but the expression quickly turns into one of sheepishness. He scratches at the back of his head, hair a little longer than current fashion, but very reminiscent of Bucky before he joined up. “Would you like to run with me? I’ve always found it a good way to soothe troubled thoughts.” 

“Sure,” Steve agrees with his own sheepish grin, not bothering to deny the troubled thoughts assumption. 

They start at a steady pace, slow for Steve, but quick for anyone who isn’t a runner. Charles strides are long and even, his breaths as steady as a tempo. Steve doesn’t usually like running with other people, but Charles is an unobtrusive presence, calming. He gets lost in the sound of their breathing and the soft falls of their steps. 

It is another hour before Charles slows to a walk. His cheeks are flushed, but he isn’t winded. Steve’s rather impressed. “I guess that Colorado air is pretty good?” His voice sounds oddly loud, shattering the silence. 

Charles shoots him a pleased look. “I’ve never really run at this elevation before, it’s nice.” He offers his hand, “Thank you for the company.”

“Anytime,” Steve returns, engulfing Charles’s hand in a shake. It still feels strange being the one with larger hands, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the gun calluses. There is so much he wants to ask, but he keeps it to himself. Now isn’t the time and it really isn’t his business. 

“Have a good night,” Charles offers, and heads for the elevator. 

Steve watches him go, before checking his watch, 0300. He has two hours before he has to be up. He glances around, then heads for the weights. 

***

Steve finds himself in the kitchen after finishing his workout and taking a real shower this time. The kitchen has the same sleek futuristic look of the rest of the tower, and contains the sort of coffee machine that probably takes a degree in mechanical engineering to operate. Luckily for him, the machine clicks on the moment he steps into the room. 

“Thanks JARVIS,” he murmurs to the ceiling. It feels strange talking to thin air, but it feels even stranger not say thank you. He pours himself a cup from the oversized pot and takes a seat at the island. The coffee smells divine, he takes a moment to let the heat leech into his hands while taking deeps wuffs of the steam. 

“It is a fine brew, is it not?” 

Steve looks up to find Thor filling the doorway. He’s still in his armor, but his cape is gone. “There’s more in the pot if you want it. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Thor says, oddly serious. He pours himself a cup and takes the seat in front of Steve.

“Did you get your answers?” Steve asks. Thor had left not long after securing Loki with ‘magical’ restraints from Asgard. 

“Some, aye,” Thor seems subdued, lessened in a way. He looks down at his cup, as if seeking the answers to the universe in his coffee. “Loki will return to Asgard to face justice. I will also be taking back the Tesseract. It will be better secured in Asgard’s vault.”

Personally, Steve thinks this is the best plan of action. The alien terrorist and technology should return to where it came from, but he’s pretty sure that plan won’t fly with Fury. He hums, noncommittal, and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Was there any change during my absence?” Thor questions. 

Steve knows he is asking after his wayward brother, but his first thought is of Bucky. “An old friend I thought dead, ah, wasn’t.” He’s not really sure how to describe what happened. 

Thor gives him a searching look, “You are certain it is your friend?” 

“Yes,” Steve says, voice firm, because while there is much he is unsure of, he knows Bucky. 

“Then I am pleased,” Thor nods, a wide grin splitting his face. “A lost shield brother?”

“Yes, we grew up together.” 

Thor holds out his mug, “A toast then, for your good fortune.” 

Steve clinked their mugs, but knows his smile is half-hearted. He can’t help but think of how Thor’s story mirrors his own -his brother was thought dead in a fall, only to return… changed. Steve was only lucky enough not to see Bucky as the Winter Soldier. The guy might be his enemy, but for Thor’s sake, he hopes Loki comes around. 

They sit in companionable silence until the others start filtering in. Natasha comes in, dressed for battle, pours a cup and sits down without a word. Clint slinks in not long after in boxers and tattered-T, his hair all askew and eyes barely open. He pours his coffee into a mug so large it might as well be a bowl before slumping into the seat beside Natasha. 

Bruce and Stark come in together about half an hour later. Bruce already has a mug of tea in his hand and is listening intently as Stark explains something in wild gestures. Stark looks up long enough to give them a wide-eyed look, like he had forgotten he had guests. 

“Ugg, early morning risers,” Stark grimaces, looking them over. “But early morning risers that make coffee,” he grins pulling out the pot to fill the mug he brought with him. He pushes a number of buttons in rapid succession and the machine gives a happy beep, rumbling with the sound of newly brewing coffee. “Where’s Robocop and the Children of the Corn?” he asks, grabbing a stool and spinning in a lazy circle. 

Natasha snorts into her coffee, lips twitching in a repressed smile.

“Robocop? Really?” Bucky calls, coming into the room with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Erik and Charles follow behind him. Charles looks tired, but no worse for wear for his late night run. 

“You must be the Captain’s lost shield brother,” Thor greets, standing. 

Bucky gives him an assessing look, “Thor, I’m guessing?” 

“Aye,” Thor grins, pulling Bucky into a hug and slapping him heartily on the back. “And who are these young warriors?”

“His sons,” Erik answers, body tense like he’s expecting a fight. 

Steve watches the scene unfold closely. While both boys are clearly protective, Erik appears to be the most aggressive, always ready for fight, ready to defend his family at the slightest provocation. Steve is reminded of himself before the serum. 

“Aye,” Thor greets, either completely oblivious to the tone or ignoring it, it’s hard to tell with him. 

“We should head to the conference room,” Natasha interrupts. “Fury is waiting.” 

Stark sputters looking offended, “Fury is here?” 

Natasha shoots him a cat-like smile and slips out the door. 

They all pile into the conference room, in various states of acceptable dress. Fury is waiting, standing at the head of the table in is his usually dark attire. 

Bucky, Erik, and Charles take the seats at the opposite end of the table, this places them directly in Fury’s sight, but also the closest to the door. 

“Welcome back from the dead Sergeant Barnes,” Fury comments, singular gaze, glaring. 

“I’m not here to cause any trouble Director. I’ve known about Shield for a long time, I just wanted to see Steve,” Bucky says, and Steve knows he’s being sincere. 

“Hmm, I’d like that to be true Sergeant, I really would, but we are dealing with one hell of a situation right now, and your...history makes these some suspicious circumstances.” 

“I can vouch for him,” Steve buts in. 

Fury gives a bark of a laugh, “Oh I’m sure you do, but you should also know how little that means in this case.” 

Steve scowls, but can’t argue the point. 

“You do not wish for a fight on multiple fronts, understandable,” Charles pipes up. His voice is still soft with youth, but his tone carries conviction, everyone at the table turns to him, apt. “We can only prove ourselves given time, time you fear you do not have, but do you wish to create conflict within a group so newly formed by your distrust. I think a compromise could be reached.” 

Fury’s eye narrows, his full focus turning on the boy, but Charles meets him gaze for gaze. 

“No,” Bucky barks out, eyes wide, and suddenly he looks frightened. He leaps to his feet, pulling Charles and Erik behind him. “You’re right, now isn’t a good time, we’ll leave.” 

“Buck,” Steve shouts, jumping to his feet. Bucky can’t leave, not when Steve just got him back. 

“We’ll come back when things have settled,” Bucky says, eyes darting about as he pushes his boys towards the door. 

“Dad stop,” Erik says and stands his ground. 

Bucky’s head flicks between them, his metal arm is making a loud whir, metal plates clacking. “No,” he says firmly, glaring at Charles, and Steve desperately wishes he knew what was going on. 

Erik reaches out, placing a soothing hand on the arm, but stays silent. They are both looking at Charles now.

After an endless moment Bucky gives a sharp nod and turns to face Steve. “We need to talk, alone.” 

Stark snorts, “Uh oh, trouble in paradise?” Everyone ignores him. 

Fury sputters, “Until we can prove…”

“This is my decision, we’ll be back,” Steve interrupts, walking over to Bucky’s side. 

Bucky gives him the same crooked grin he wore in the 30’s. “Thanks Champ.” 

Steve leads them to an empty office on one of the middle floors. “JARVIS can you shut down the monitoring on this floor, please.” 

“Of course, Captain,” JARVIS responds, and the blinking blue light in the ceiling goes out. 

“You trust one of Stark's computers to not eavesdrop?” Bucky asks, glaring at the ceiling. 

Steve frowns, “Honestly, I don’t know, but Stark doesn’t like Shield, so he won’t share.”

“It’s fine,” Erik comments, turning in a slow circle as he looks about the room, “all the recording devices are off.” 

“Huh,” Bucky hums, but doesn’t question how Erik knows this. 

“Buck what’s going on?” Steve can’t help but ask. He’s not sure he’s ever seen him so anxious. 

Bucky twitches, shooting questioning looks at his boys.

Charles steps forward and says very clearly, _“We have powers.”_ His lips never move. 

Steve blinks, looks around the room as if something should be changed, before turning back to Charles. “What?”

 _“I’m telepathic,”_ Charles continues. 

His mental voice sounds exactly like his physical voice, soft and soothing with the strange british lit. Steve saw some strange shit during the war - he’ll never forget Romania - but this is new. “Are you telepathic too?” He turns to Erik. 

“No,” Erik says with a grin, raising his hand, palm up and fingers spread. The desk beside Steve rumbles and then lifts two feet off the ground. 

Steve steps away from it, startled. “Oh,” is all he can think to say. 

Erik flips his palm over and sets the desk back down with a clunk. 

Steve takes a deep breath and looks back at Bucky, he looks nervous. “I can see why you didn’t want Shield to know. They aren’t the bad guys, but they wouldn’t hesitate to recruit them.” 

The tension seeps out of Bucky, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Yeah I figured.” 

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he scowls. “Did you think I would tell them or freak out? Bucky they’re just kids, your kids. Not to mention I can run over forty miles an hour and lift a tank over my head because of a science experiment I volunteered for. I’m the last person to judge.” 

“Naw,” Bucky drawls, looking sheepish, “Sorry.” 

Steve shakes his head, “It’s okay. I’d be protective too. Did Hydra…?”

Charles - telepathic, of course, that explains some things - interprets his question. “No, we were both born this way. As far as I can determine it is a genetic variation in our code, the next stage of human evolution taken to the extreme. We are not the first, there have been historical records of such mutations dating back centuries, they are just well hidden or mired in myth.” 

Steve gives Bucky a questioning look, but can’t bring himself to ask the question that’s bothering him. 

Charles beats him to the punch. “No,” he chuckles, “we aren’t Dad’s biological children.” 

“Oh,” Steve blinks, and then blushes. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize for your thoughts Steve. We were all kept in the same facility. It was great luck that we managed to escape together.” 

Steve understands more than most that the bonds that make up a family can have nothing to do with blood. He straightens into the posture Bucky once called his ‘Steve’s about to do something stupid look’, “I’ll handle Shield.” 

“Steve, that’s not…” Bucky sighs. 

“I know, but Iet me do this. I just got you back.” He grins, “I can’t let something like an international spy organization stand in the way.” 

Bucky laughs and gives Steve that fond look he always used to wear when he’d help him up after a fight. 

Steve spins on his heel, and marches to battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with the decision to write in Steve's POV and then I struggled to write it at all, so I hope it came out okay.


	13. The Mission

## 

Chapter Thirteen: The Mission

_“This is madness!”_

_“Is it? IS IT?”_

_“I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!”_

_“No”_

_“You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”_

_“You lack conviction.”_

_Where is he? He’s falling._

_Falling._

_Falling._

_There is only darkness and death._

_Who is he? Who is he? Who…_

“CHARLES!” 

He wakes with a jolt, leaping from the bed. The comforter trips him, the heavy blankets clawing at his feet, dragging him to the floor. He hits the ground with a solid thump, the air knocked from him. 

“Charles!” Erik is at his side, helping him up. 

He manages to untangle his feet, still panting. There is sweat on his brow. “Erik,” he whispers, voice hoarse. 

“What happened?” Erik taps his brow. “You were screaming.” 

“Nothing,” Charles huffs, still trying to get his breathing under control. “It was nothing.”

‘ _Nothing my ass. Charles I could feel you. You were terrified._ ’ Erik glares. 

“It was nightmare. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m fine now.” Charles reassures. ‘ _Did I reach out to anyone else?_ ’

‘ _Just me, I think._ ’ Erik pulls him up, just to plop him back on the bed. “A nightmare, really?”

“I get them,” Charles says, which is the truth. Everyone in their household gets nightmares, even if they have been less numerous over the years. 

Erik’s eyes narrow to a squint, and Charles knows that this is not over, but Erik concedes for now. “You’ll tell me if this happens again.” It’s not a question. 

“I will,” Charles agrees, giving him a tired smile. 

Erik hesitates, hovering, but he gives a sharp nod and heads for the door. “Breakfast is in an hour if you want. Dr. Banner is cooking.” 

“Thank you my friend. I’ll be there.” Charles waits until Erik is just a warm spot in the back of his mind, and lets out a breath of relief. His mental shields have been shredded. They aren’t as been as they had been years ago in Mexico, but he can feel the gaping weakness in them. The strange thing is, the thing that had stopped him from telling Erik, is that it had not been an attack. He reaches out with mind, prodding gently at the wounds left behind. Whoever had reached out to him had not done it out of anger, but fear. He tries to follow the path of the mind that had reached out for his. The path is sour with fear and pain, but the moment he turns his full attention to it, the trail disperses like smoke on the wind. “Hmm, who are you?” he asks the empty room. 

“Sir?” 

The voice of JARVIS, the house computer startles him. He looks up, gaze landing on the blinking blue light in the corner. “Sorry,” he gives the light an apologetic smile. The science behind JARVIS is fascinating, but hearing what appears to be a human voice without the attached mental response, brings back memories he does not care to relive. “Just talking to myself.” 

“Ahh, of course, sir,” JARVIS sounds understanding. 

Charles has to hide a laugh. Unnerving or not, JARVIS is something, alright. He shakes his head as he goes to get ready for breakfast. He ends up heading down early, but the kitchen is already filled. Natasha and Bruce are at the stove. Bruce is mixing what looks like potatoes and onions in a massive saute pan, while Natasha cuts up green peppers at blinding speed. Thor, Steve, and Dad are huddled together at the island. Thor seems to be regaling them with some tale, but Charles can tell that Dad is barely paying attention. His gaze keeps drifting over to Steve, sneaking looks. 

Steve appears to be doing the exact same thing, his gaze darting to Dad and back while he periodically nods at one of Thors accolades. Charles has to stifle a laugh. They’re ridiculous. The day before, Steve had faced down Shield and given what must have been a convincing speech. Charles hadn’t listened in, giving Steve his trust, and looking at the scene before him, he knows his trust had not been misplaced. 

“Morning, Champ,” Dad calls. 

“Morning, Dad,” Charles greets, going over and taking the other seat at his side. It is somewhat painful to sit this close to Thor. The Asgardian’s mind is like nothing he has ever seen. It radiates golden light, the mental equivalent of staring directly at the sun. He can usually block out the feeling, but with his shields so weakened it takes considerable concentration. 

“Good morning Charles,” Steve greets nervously, drawing his attention. ‘ _Is that weird? Should I not have said good morning? Shit. Shit. Language!_ ’

Charles can’t help it, he laughs, a sharp bark that draws the attention of the room. “Ah sorry,” he flushes, “Good morning Steve.”

Steve flushes brighter, his face turning beat read. “Coffee,” he murmurs and runs off to refill his already full cup. 

Erik comes in a moment later and his mere presence helps to strengthen Charles’s shields. He feels the tenseness in his shoulders relax. “Hey,” he greets them, while thinking ‘ _How are your feeling?_ ”

‘ _I’m fine, I promise,_ ’ he assures, tipping his head in greeting. 

Once everyone is settled, Thor jumps back into his recitation of the great bilgesnipe wrangling of his youth, but no one is really paying attention. Charles finally manages to tune him out, and turns his attention to Steve and Dad. They are sitting as close as possible without touching. Neither one is thinking anything direct enough for him to pick up without diving deeper, but they are radiating a mix of disbelief and overwhelming happiness. 

He finds himself smiling, watching the two dance around each other as breakfast is served. Dr. Banner hands out heaping plates of a spiced potato hash with bacon and over-easy eggs. Very little is said as they scarf the food, except for the occasional praise sent the doctor’s way. 

When everyone has cleared their plate, stopping just shy of licking it clean, Natasha clears her throat. Instantly, all eyes are on her. “Emergency Services, the National Guard, and Shield has evacuated the people that remained in the area and are moving on to clean up. We have been assigned,” here she shoots a look at Steve, “to assist where we are able.” 

Steve nods, “Of course, how can we help?” 

Tony, who had slunk it late and was skulking in the corner sputtered. “Assigned? Assigned? I don’t get assignments.” 

Natasha tosses a notecard at his head, hitting with surprising accuracy for such flimsy cardboard. “The Army Corps of Engineers needs your helps with the city power grid.” 

Tony’s eyes light up, and even across the room, Charles can feel his spark of excitement. “Well,” he hums, snatching the notecard and flicking it idly in his hands, “I suppose I could lend a little expertise.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes and hands out the rest of the cards. Bucky isn’t handed one, but the one in Steve’s hand assigns him to the New York fire brigade, assisting in clearing buildings of fire hazards. 

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky says, peering at the card over his shoulders. 

“Ah, you don’t have to help Buck.”

Bucky gives the man such a condescending glare, he promptly shuts up with a click of teeth. Charles knows he should probably give them some alone time away from the tower, but he thinks his and Erik’s powers may be of some use, so he stands to go with them. Erik, of course, follows. 

The city is busier now than it was the day before. More help having arrived overnight. The battlefield is now teeming with people, all working to put the city back together again. Despite the sudden increase of minds, Charles finds a pressure, he had not realized was there, lift from his mind. He breaths a sigh of relief before focusing on the task at hand. 

The Fire Chief, a no nonsense woman with a heavy Boston accent, sends them off with one of the teams on the east side of the tower. They work in a grid pattern, entering into hazardous buildings to shut off gas lines and check for any obvious electric problems. If Erik wasn’t with them, Charles isn’t sure how much help they actually would have been, but Erik turns off valves and reroutes wiring with ease. 

Steve seems hardly affected by this at all, simply offering praise and helping to move heavy objects when Erik needs a better look at something. Mostly, his thoughts are focused on Bucky. 

‘ _I think they’re in love_ ,’ Charles comments after a few hours. 

Erik startles, then winces when something in the walls of the building gives a sparking hiss. He flicks his fingers and the noise cuts out. ‘ _What?_ ’

‘ _Sorry,_ ’ Charles winces and spreads his thoughts out to make sure Bucky and Steve are still rooms away. ‘ _I think they’re in love,_ ’ he repeats, ‘ _Dad and Steve I mean._ ’ 

Erik gives him a scathing look, one brow quirked. ‘ _Really?_ ’ his mental voice is an unimpressed drawl. 

‘ _That obvious?_ ’ 

Erik snorts. ‘ _Dad remembered Steve even when he couldn’t remember his own name. If that isn’t love then I don’t know what is._ ’

‘ _Oh,_ ’ Charles mutters, feeling stupid. With his abilities he’s never been quite sure when emotions are obvious to other people. To be honest, he wonders how those without telepathy ever manage to interact with people without constantly blundering into awkward situations. Of course, thinking of Dad and Steve, he suspects his initial assessment isn’t far off. ‘ _Well,_ ’ he shakes off his thoughts, ‘ _I think we should get them together._ ’

‘ _They’ll get there on their own, don’t meddle, Charles._ ’

‘ _They didn’t get there in the years they lived together._ ’

‘ _It was the 30’s,_ ’ Erik points out. 

Charles has to concede the point, but still, ‘ _They think that the other one will leave if they tell._ ’

‘ _What?_ ’ Erik’s brows shoot up to his hairline, ‘ _those idiots._ ’

‘ _Exactly,_ ’ Charles grins, though he just refrains from pointing out Erik’s hypocrisy. ‘ _Will you help?_ ’

‘ _What and play matchmaker?_ ” Erik glares, but his gaze soon drops and he gives a long suffering sigh. ‘ _Fine._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I almost completely forgot about posting today, its been a busy few weeks. I'm taking a short break on this one for the next few weeks while I finish up the Stucky Big Bang, but I'll be back in September.


	14. Shared Fear

## Chapter Fourteen: Shared Fear

Erik still isn’t sure how he feels about Steve. The man seems genuine and Charles trusts him, but for someone who can read minds, Charles is ridiculously trusting. Still, he’s never seen Dad so happy.

He watches them now. The fire department needed help moving debris in an area hard to reach for machinery, but easy for super soldiers. It would only take a flick of his fingers, but Erik can’t be so obvious with emergency services all over. Instead, Bucky and Steve are moving the debris, competing like children. 

Bucky is grinning wildly, shooting Steve challenging looks as he hefts concrete blocks with his enhanced arm. Steve is just as bad. Moving metal sheets with unnecessary speed while chucking the occasional dry wall at Bucky. They are both covered in drywall dust. 

Charles sighs happily at his side. 

Erik shoots him a glare, wondering when he became such a hopeless romantic. 

Charles just grins at him, unrepentant. 

_Damn telepath_ , Erik thinks, rather pointedly. 

Charles justs smiles wider. 

“That’s the last of it,” Steve says, interrupting their stare down. 

Erik has done a lot of research on Captain America. Partially because of his interest in WWII, but also to try and understand his adopted Dad better. The images in books were always of a solemn-faced man in tactical gear, a leader. The Steve Rogers standing in front of him, has a lopsided smile and is wearing torn khakis with a too-tight t-shirt. He’s covered in grime and has dry-wall in his hair. 

Dad is just as bad. His jeans are a mess and his long hair has mostly fallen from its usual bun, the dark strands coated in dust. His smile is wide and pleased, showing his teeth when he claps Steve on the back, purposefully leaving a chalky handprint. “We’re all good for the day. Ready to head back?” 

With dusk falling, they return to the tower. Erik both loves and hates the tower. Loves it, because the structure is beautifully made, engineered perfectly and with the sort of metal construction that sings along his senses. There is JARVIS as well, a creation that, at his core, is just a series of electromagnetic signals. JARVIS occupies the entirety of the tower and his presence is a comfort of electric-blue intent. 

What Erik hates, is the carefully constructed secrets in the tower. The basement level is completely blind to him, the overwhelming power of the arch-reactor confusing his senses. The upper levels are filled with hidden labs and stairwells. He knows that the stairs are actually for easy escape and the labs are for Stark’s experiments. Experiments that involve building advanced mechanical marvels, not torturing people, but Erik has never been good about overwriting instinct with rationality. 

He shakes it off, however, when Charles goes stiff the moment they enter the front door. _‘You okay?’_

_‘Fine,’_ Charles lies. 

Erik gives him a pointed look and a mental shove. 

Charles sighs, drawing Dad’s attention. 

“Everything okay?” Dad asks, turning away from Steve and focusing completely on them. It might make Erik selfish, but he’s pleased to see it.

“Charles has been having nightmares,” Erik says without hesitation. 

“Erik,” Charles hisses, looking mortified. “I’m fine, really. It was nothing. Something about this building is strange, that’s all." 

“Strange how?” Dad asks, concern darkening his features. Erik knows in that moment that should Charles says they need to leave then they will, no questions asked. 

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not sure. It’s not bad, just strange. The people here aren’t… normal exactly. Not,” he glances around, “not our kind of strange, but they think differently than most. It’s a lot of odd minds on constant alert and my shields are weaker than usual. I think it’s just messing up my circadian rhythm. I just need to strengthen my shields and adapt. I’m fine.” He glares at Erik, “really.” 

“You sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?” Bucky asks. 

“Positive.”

“And you’ll tell me if that changes?” 

“Of course,” Charles lies smoothly, but Bucky doesn’t have a direct link to his mind, so he believes him. 

Erik knows better, but he stays silent for now. He’ll just have to keep a closer eye on his idiot telepath. 

Steve stays out of the exchange, even though he is standing right next to Dad, and can clearly hear them. Erik appreciates this, another point in Steve’s favor. He might actually wind up helping Charles with his ridiculous matchmaking scheme. 

They take the elevator up to the main floor. Charles begs out of dinner, wanting some distance to strengthen his shielding. Erik follows him, a chance to give Dad and Steve some alone time and to lend Charles a hand. Ever since Mexico, Erik has been a focusing point for Charles. 

They use Charles’s room, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Do you need me to do anything?” Erik asks. 

Charles shakes his head. “No, I just need you to,” he shoots him a smile, “be here for me.” He closes his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths.

Erik thinks, _‘I’ll always be here for you,'_ but he isn’t sure if the message gets through. He can feel it when Charles goes under. Their connection strengthens, thrown wide open, even as the information passing between them becomes a muffled buzz. Since Erik doesn’t need to do anything, he grabs the book off the side table. It’s “Into the Jungle” so it must have come from home. 

Erik shakes his head, glancing over at Charles with a look of exasperated affection. To stop his thoughts from turning to dangerous topics, he flips open the book at random and starts to read. 

He’s in the middle of the chapter about Roy Chapman Andrews -whose life may have actually been more wild than their own- when he feels the shields shudder. “Charles?” 

Charles is still perched on the bed, hands in his lap, eyes closed, but his brow is furrowed. It looks like he’s in pain. 

“Charles?” Erik calls again. He wants to reach out, wants to shake him, but messing up his concentration at this point would be a terrible idea. He feels along the bond, there’s something… He prods at the edges of it, but he can’t tell what is causing the strange feeling. 

Charles’s mind slams down suddenly, the link snapping back like an overstretched rubber band. It hurts, stinging across his senses and forming an instant headache. He groans, pressing against the sharp pain at his temple. 

It takes effort to focus. The shields are back up and stronger than normal. There is only the barest drip falling through the link now. He feels a wisp of confusion and worry, then nothing. 

When Erik finally manages to focus, Charles has his head in his hands, pressing his fingers against his scalp hard enough to hurt. “What was that?” Erik asks, reaching out to pull Charles’s hands away. 

Charles looks up at him, eyes wide and pupils nothing but a dot in a sea of turquoise. He stares at him for a long time, looking lost. “Erik?” He says, and it sounds like a question. 

“Charles, what the hell?” He’s really worried now. 

Charles blinks rapidly, pupil’s returning to a more normal size. “I think someone is trying to reach out to me.” 

“They’re attacking you, who?”

“No,” Charles shakes his head, “Not attacking me, reaching out. They need help, but they don’t seem to realize anyone is listening. They’re screaming.” 

Erik scowls. “This is more than just screaming.” 

“There’s something…” Charles shakes his head, “I don’t know, it’s weird. I can’t put my finger on where the voice is even coming from. I’m not even sure it’s one person.” 

“We need to leave,” Erik declares, standing. 

“No!” Charles shouts. “No,” he repeats, gentler. “I want to figure out who this is. They need help, Erik. Plus we are suppose to be helping Dad.”

“I really don’t care about this schizophrenic that has been messing around in your head. They are hurting you.” He stresses the point, because Charles seems to be conveniently ignoring the important part. “And Dad is fine, I’m sure Steve will follow.” 

Still ignoring the important part, Charles shakes his head. “No, Steve won’t follow. He’ll want to, but New York needs him here.” 

Erik drops his head into his palm and lets out a long sigh. “Will you be alright here for a moment if I go deal with Dad and Steve?”

“Oh god,” Charles’s eyes widen, “Erik no!”

Erik can tell that the shields are properly back in place. There is no hint of pain across the link or on Charles’s face. He doesn’t really want to leave him after that fit, but if he needs to play matchmaker to get Charles out of this tower, than he will. “I’ve got it. Stop worrying.” He ignores the sputters, heading out of the room and locking the door with a flick of his fingers. Charles will be able to get out if he really needs too, but it will slow him down. 

He finds Bucky in the gym, sitting on one of the weight benches. He isn’t working out, instead, he is leaning over the weight bar, staring out into space. Steve isn’t there. 

“Dad,” Erik calls, drawing his attention. 

“Hey,” Bucky smiles, “Is Charles okay?” 

Erik doesn’t want to lie, and he’s not even sure of the truth anyways, so he offers, “he strengthened his shields back up.” He feels a whisper of warning from Charles, but subtly has never been one Erik’s strong suits. “Are you going to tell Steve you love him?”

Bucky’s expression shifts from relieved to baffled. “What?” 

“Steve,” Erik stresses, “are you going to tell him?” 

Erik has never been good at predicting what Bucky will do, so he shouldn’t be surprised when his Dad’s response is, “I don’t know, are you going to tell Charles?” 

Erik slams the gates of his mind so fast it probably gives Charles whiplash. “What?”

“Charles,” Bucky stresses, “are you going to tell him?” His grin softens after a moment. “It’s pretty obvious, Champ. You know he loves you too, right?” 

“I…”Erik takes a step back. This conversation has gone in the completely wrong direction. 

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Bucky sooths, walking over and pulling him into a hug. 

Erik isn’t a child. He doesn’t need a hug, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning into it. “He’s my brother,” he argues, words muffled. 

Bucky pats his back. “Yeah, and Steve is mine.” 

Erik leans back enough to glare. “Not really.” 

“Well neither is Charles.” 

Erik glares harder. That wasn’t the point. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Look kiddo, I haven’t told Steve, and I’m not sure I will. I’m,” he glances away, “I’m nervous alright. We’re from a different time and we’ve been apart longer than we were ever together, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell Charles.” 

Erik pulls away, irritated. “So your advice is ‘do what I say, not what I do’?”

Bucky winces. “That isn’t…”

“Don’t tell me it’s different, because it’s not,” Erik growls. “You’re afraid.” He knows he’s admitting too much, but this conversation has his hackles up. 

“Of course I’m afraid,” Bucky snaps, because they’ve always been too much alike. “I could lose him!”

“Exactly.”

They are glaring at one another. Tempers flared. Bucky looks away first, his arm giving a strange whine as he clenches and unclenches his fist. “Let’s make a deal,” he says at last. 

Erik takes a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“We’ll both tell them. Life is too short to live with those kind of regrets. I’ll risk it if you will.”

Erik has a sinking suspicion that he has just been tricked. This is a terrible idea, but still, “alright.” He steps back into Bucky’s arms, knocking their shoulders together. “Wait,” he gives his Dad a mischievous grin, “Life’s too short? Aren’t you like 100?” 

“Oy,” Bucky huffs, ruffling his hair, “mind your elders.” 

Erik opens his mouth to tease him again, when pain shoots into his skull. “Ah,” he screams, clenching at his head. 

“What is it?” Bucky growls, stance shifting into protective in an instant.

Erik turns to him, his vision has gone fuzzy, but he can still feel the warmth of the metal arm at his back. He can’t focus, can only force out the most important word rattling around his thoughts, “Charles!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one guys, but hopefully I can keep the updates back to usual now. The posting of Folie A Deux went well. If anyone is looking for an emotional Winter Soldiers Stucky fic, give it a try.


	15. Chapter 15

## Chapter Fifteen: Mage of the Mind

Bucky doesn’t bother with the elevator. He slams into the stairwell, pounding up the stairs two at a time. He surges into Charles’s room a moment later. Charles is on the floor, blood trickling from his ear.

 

“Charles!” he shouts, falling to his knees. He reaches out carefully, pulling his son to him as if he were made of glass. 

 

Charles groans at the movement, nose scrunching in pain. 

 

“Charles,” Bucky calls again, softer this time. 

 

“I think he’s okay,” Erik says, coming up to kneel at their side. “He was shouting, mentally, calling out, but he’s not anymore.”

 

“Calling for you?” Bucky asks, pulling Charles more fully into his arms. He is really much too old to be cradled like a baby, but Bucky doesn’t care. He can feel Charles’ heart beating strong against his own, and it’s the best feeling in the world. 

 

Erik is shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. He was calling out to someone, but it was almost like they weren’t responding. He sounded frantic.”

 

“Who would be able to ignore him? One of those helmets?” 

 

Erik scowls, the metal in the room gives a groan of protest. “I don’t know who would be able to ignore him, but I would know if one of those helmets were near.” 

 

Bucky doesn’t doubt that he would. Erik is extremely sensitive to certain alloys, like Bucky’s arm. Even though Erik will manipulate mental unconsciously when he is angry, his powers never touch the arm. “I’m sure there is a clinic or something in this tower. We should get him looked over just in case.” He stands, lifting him with ease. Charles grumbles at the movement, shifting his head so he’s hiding his face against Bucky’s shoulder. 

 

“Sir, if you would go to the elevator I can direct you to the medical floor,” JARVIS speaks up, startling them both. 

 

“Ah,” Bucky laughs nervously, looking up at the ceiling. “Thank you, JARVIS.” 

 

“I have informed Captain Rogers to meet you there,” JARVIS adds. 

 

Bucky heads for the elevator, too grateful to deal with his mixed feelings on Stark’s AI. Erik follows at his side, looking much more at ease with the voice in the ceiling. 

 

They are taken to the very top floor, where the helicopter pad is. Strategically, it makes sense, though he is rather surprised they are being allowed up here. This floor is obviously one of Stark’s main labs. There are holographic projectors running in almost every corner, reading schematics and running numbers. There are a set of displays built into one wall. Two of them contain old iron man suits while the rest lay empty. 

 

This level had clearly taken some damage in the battle, there is a large divot in the floor, cracks radiating out from the concrete like a bomb went off. The huge glass wall leading out to the landing pad is covered in sheets of rigid plastic. Standing in front of a door on the side wall, is Steve.

 

“Is he alright? What happened?” Steve asks, marching over. 

 

“Mental backlash or something like it,” Bucky answers, looking down at Charles. His ear isn’t bleeding anymore, the blood drying along his jaw. His heartrate and breathing are steady. Bucky thinks he might just be asleep now, but that blood worries him. 

 

“Come on, through here.” Steve leads them through the door and into what is clearly a hospital room, if that room had been designed in the year 3000. The bed is queen sized and plush, the large down comforter done in soothing light green - Bucky half expected everything to be red and gold. There are no railings, but when Bucky lays Charles on the bed, it lifts, shifting its shape to prop up his head. 

 

A hologram lights up in blue over the bed, a flash of light scanning Charles from head to toe before numbers start filling the air. Another hologram activates, this one showing a human brain, sparks of brighter blue flickering in the image. 

 

“His readouts are perfectly normal Sergeant Barnes. Chemistry analysis is within normal range for his age. The image you are currently seeing is of Mr. Charles’ brain. There is abnormal activity in the limbic system and a rise in cortisol and adrenaline levels, but that is to be expected,” JARVIS announces. 

 

Bucky runs his hand over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh. “You’re the doctor?”

 

“Of course not,” JARVIS actually sounds offended. “However, medical staff was evacuated before the battle. They are not scheduled to return until the damage is fully repaired. Until that time, I am fully capable of reading and analyzing the equipment in this room. Mr. Charles is exhausted, but well. He will recover with rest.” 

 

Bucky glares at the ceiling, unsure how much he wants to trust the voice in the walls with his son’s health. He actually does trust Stark’s inventions to a degree, but he also remembers the time Howard tried to create a heated vest and accidently made a bomb. 

 

Erik takes the seat by the bed, reaching out to hold Charles’ hand between his own. “I think he’s right. He feels calmer now, but this is the third time something like this has happened. We need to find out who is doing this.” 

 

“And he didn’t mention any names?” Bucky asks, deciding to just let Charles rest for now. 

 

Erik looks down, brow furrowed in concentration. “He didn’t mention any names, not really, but he did say before that he couldn’t get a read on Thor.” 

 

“Thor wouldn’t do this,” Steve cuts in, “He’s a warrior, but he isn’t...mean.” Bucky can tell the moment an idea hits him, because his eyes go wide, eyebrows shooting up. “But Thor isn’t the only alien in the tower.” 

 

“What, are you starting a collection?” Bucky can’t help but huff. 

 

“Uh,” Steve rubs the back of his head, looking nervous. “Not exactly. We need to speak to Thor, but he’s going to need to know about Charles.” 

 

“Can we trust him?” Erik asks, and Bucky is so proud of him. He knows that Erik only trusts their little family, to see him seeking Steve’s advice on something so important is a surprise. 

 

Steve clearly understands the importance of the question, because he mulls it over before answering. “Yes,” he finally says, turning the full force of his ‘Captain America’ stare on Erik. “He values honor above all else. If he gives his word not to tell, he won’t break it.”

 

Erik looks torn, glancing between Charles and Bucky. “I don’t want to leave him,” he admits. 

 

“I’ll go. Stay with him. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Bucky assures him. 

 

Bucky and Steve find Thor in the kitchen. He’s sitting at the island nursing a cup of coffee. With what little Bucky knows about the Asgardian, even he can tell something is wrong. The man’s usual boisterous manner has turned pensive, and when he smiles at them in greeting it does not reach his eyes. 

 

“Everything alright Thor?” Steve asks. 

 

“Aye, Captain. I received news from home is all.”

 

Bucky is tempted to ask him if it was bad news, but his concern is for Charles. “What do you know about telepathy?” 

 

Thor’s brow furrows. “Not much. I’m afraid I was never much interested in the mystical arts and there are few Asgardians gifted with such abilities. The light elves of Alfheim have always had more skill in the mental arts.” 

 

Steve steps forward. “Could you come up to the medical ward? One of Bucky’s sons is...having trouble. I think Loki might be involved.” 

 

Thor’s face darkens at the name. “Take me to him,” he orders, standing. 

 

Back on the medical floor, Charles is sitting up now. He has his eyes scrunched closed in a look Bucky recognizes over the years as a sign of a headache, but his color already looks better. “Hey, Champ,” Bucky calls, going to sit on his left side, Erik already at his right. 

 

“Hey, Dad,” Charles greets, opening one eye and giving him a lopsided smile. 

 

“How you feelin’?” He curls an arm around his back, rubbing soothing circles along his spine.

 

“Like I got punched in the face.” He closes his eyes again, turning his head so he’s nuzzled into Bucky’s shoulder. He looks like he’s ready to fall asleep again. 

 

“Hey, Buddy,” Bucky calls shifting his shoulder to draw his attention. “Thor is here.” 

 

“Hmm,” he grumbles, scrunching his eyes tighter like he can shut them all out through sheer force of will. 

 

Bucky shares a look with Erik, they are both holding back laughs. “Thor, Charles,” Erik says, reaching out to tug him into a more upright position. 

 

Charles blinks sluggishly, looking confused until the name seems to finally click into place. “Thor! Asgard!” he straightens up, turning a wide-eyed gaze on Thor. 

 

Thor steps forward, kneeling in front of the bed. “Hello, young warrior. You are a mage of the mind.” Bucky notices that isn’t a question.

 

“Sort of,” Charles admits, looking rather unconcerned that Thor knows his secret. “You have a brother don’t you? Here?”

 

Thor closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before giving a sharp nod. “Aye, he is imprisoned in the base of the tower. He is responsible for the battle that took place in this city of York. Has he been tormenting you?” 

 

“No,” Charles shakes his head emphatically. “He’s screaming into the dark because he thinks no one can hear him. He’s… he’s the one being tormented. He needs help.” 

 

Thor looks away, avoiding Charles’ fierce gaze. “My brother is the God of Lies. I would not doubt he could play his tricks even within his mind.” 

 

“It is no trick,” Charles growls, and the ferocity of his statement surprises Bucky. “I know what I am hearing, jumbled though it may be. Your brother is being mentally tortured. He needs help.”

 

“Youngling,” Thor starts, but Charles interrupts. 

 

“No,” he snarls, lifting his hand to press his fingers to his brow. Bucky recognizes the gesture, having seen it before, it’s how Charles concentrates when he needs to focus his powers. 

 

At first nothing happens, but then Thor gasps. He stands, stumbling backwards. 

 

“See,” Charles smiles, “I’m not so easily tricked.” 

 

“Aye,” Thor murmurs, eyes wide and startled. “You are rather strong in the mind arts. Stronger than any I have met.” He goes back to the bed, falling to his knees and trapping Charles’ face in his large hands. “You swear that my brother is in danger. That Loki needs help?” 

 

“I swear.” 

 

Thor stands in a hurry, hand flicking out in a gesture that makes Steve move to his side. “Wait,” Steve calls, reaching out to grab his wrist. “Let’s think about this for a moment.” He turns to Charles, “The problem is mental right? Whatever is hurting him isn’t here.” 

 

“It’s hard to make out his thoughts. He’s too far away. I think I would need skin to skin contact to actually help, but yes whatever is torturing him is in his mind.” 

 

“No, absolutely not,” Bucky and Erik say at the same time. 

 

Charles glares at them both. “He needs my help. Do you have any other telepath handy?”

 

“He just attacked New York with space whales!” Bucky resists the urge to throw his hands in the air in frustration. Charles’ has always been too trusting. 

 

Charles narrows his eyes. _‘He’s being controlled against his will, and someone played with his mind to get him to do it.’_

 

Bucky winces, looking away. Charles’ big heart also comes with the knowledge of exactly which buttons to press. “Are you sure?” He has to ask. 

 

Erik looks betrayed, glaring between them with a darkening scowl. 

 

“I’m sure, Dad.” 

 

Steve steps between them, falling into his Captain posture. “I can’t agree on letting you get that close to Loki, not without the team’s consent. We need to assemble the Avengers.”


	16. Avengers Assemble

## Chapter Sixteen: Avengers Assemble

Steve paces outside the conference room. He can hear the Avengers within. They are waiting for him, but he’s nervous.

“It’s alright,” Bucky sooths, watching him pace. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to the boys.” Steve trusts the Avengers, to a degree. They are a good team, and he doubts they would do anything to them, but he doesn’t know. 

“I know you Stevie,” Bucky growls, shifting forward from his spot against the wall. “You would never let anything happen to them, and if you think I would let anything happen to them you have another thing coming. Trust me, should anyone try to hurt or otherwise misuse my boys, I will tear them apart.” The last part is a snarl. 

Steve stops pacing, a flash of red staining his cheeks. “I know Buck. Just nervous.” 

“And when have you ever been prone to nerves.” 

Steve chuckles, “Since you decided to up and have kids.” 

“Go on,” Bucky says, making a shooing motion, “they won’t wait forever.” 

Steve sighs, but pivots on his heel and marches into the room. The noise settles when he steps into the room, all attention on him. 

“So you ready to make this cabin address or what, mon capitaine?” Tony drawls. 

Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, he doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. “It has come to mine and,” he gestures to Thor seated at his side, “Thor’s attention that there may be more behind Loki than we originally thought.” 

“You mean other than a bag of cats?” Bruce asks, quirking a brow. 

Thor scowls, slamming his fist on the table. “He is my brother and the mind mage says he is being tortured. If the attack was not his doing than we need to find the one behind it.” 

“Whoa, what a sec,” Clint stands up. “Your crazy ass brother controlled dozens of people. I felt him in my head, ordering me, and you think someone else was pulling his strings?”

“What did you mean by mind mage?” Natasha asks, not raising her voice, but still commanding all of the attention in the room. 

Thor opens his mouth, but stops when he realizes he had promised not to reveal Charles’ secret. He shoots an apologetic look at Steve. 

Steve looks down the table until all eyes are on him. “Bucky’s sons have...gifts. They were born with them and Hydra captured them because of it. Charles’ gift is telepathy. He can read minds.” 

Stark looks ready to comment, but is silenced by Steve’s glare. 

“He has been picking up a voice since he got here, but he could not identify it until recently. He feels quite strongly that Loki is being mentally tortured from afar, but he cannot determine anything further without skin to skin contact.” 

“You want to put a sixteen year old in the cell with Loki?” Clint shouts. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony interrupts. “Before we get to the putting the teenager into contact with the megalomaniac, let’s get back to the magic mind powers. He’s a telepath, really?” 

“Tis true,” Thor argues, standing up. “I have spoken with the young warrior and he has shown me proof of his gifts. He is a skilled mind mage, comparable even to the light elves of Alfheim.” 

“How do we know that Loki is not tricking him?” Natasha asks, seemingly accepting the idea of telepathy. 

“He makes a convincing argument. It is worth pursuing. If Loki was not the one behind the attack, Thor is right, we need to find the one behind it.” 

Bruce clears his throat, “We know that the spear’s power can be broken. I might not remember much of the battle, but I remember the big guy giving him a pretty thorough mental recalibration.” 

“And his eye color changed!” Tony interjects, eyes wide with sudden realization. He leans over the table and presses the projector in the center. “JARVIS play the footage from Shield when Loki comes through the Tesseract.” 

The video comes to life above the table. Loki coming through the portal in a flash of blue light. 

“Focus in on his face,” Tony instructs. The video closes in, showing the eerie blue sheen in Loki’s eyes. “Now go to just after the Hulk remodeled my floor with him.” The video skips to Loki pushing himself out of the hole in the floor. He’s hurt, arm curled around his side and blood dripping from his temple. The video moves in to focus on his eyes. The blue sheen is gone, replaced by a vibrant green. 

“I had noticed the change when we got back and he asked for that drink, but I didn’t realize. Stupid,” Tony growls pressing a knuckle to his brow. 

“This is...suggestive,” Natasha comments, watching the video repeat. 

Clint falls back into his chair with a thud, looking conflicted. “Shield’s not going to like this.” 

“We aren’t telling Shield,” Steve says, flatly. 

“Oooh?” Tony grins, waggling his eyebrows. 

Steve sharpens his glare. “They are just kids, Shield _cannot_ know what they can do.” He’s not sure how he expects his new teammates to respond to that, but they all go serious, faces turning grim. 

“No, they can’t,” Tony bites out, all trace of humor gone. 

“They’d be just weapons to them. It’s dangerous for Shield to know as much as they already do,” Bruce grits his teeth, looking a little green. 

“We will keep their secret,” Natasha agrees. Clint nods at her side. 

“Aye,” Thor says, though he is looking down at the table, remembering his careless words from before. 

“Speaking of they,” Tony cuts in, “What does the tall, angry one do?” 

Steve sighs, trying to express his displeasure at the description in a single look. “Erik,” he stresses, “as far as I understand, he can manipulate electromagnetic fields.” 

“What?!” Tony grins, whole face alight with glee, “that’s awesome.” 

“Means he can really turn you into just a tin can,” Natasha points out, smirking. 

Tony waves her off. “But think of all the possibilities.” 

“Such a power has a rather wide scope,” Bruce comments, looking contemplative. “Shield can never learn about this. The possibilities between the two of them…” he trails off, shaking his head at the thought. 

“Will we do it then?” Steve interrupts, getting them back on focus, but he feels a surge of warmth for his teammates’ understanding. “Will we let Charles see Loki?”

Surprisingly, it is Clint that speaks first. “We need to restrain Loki of course, but if he really is being controlled… we should,” he bites his lip, “we should help him.” 

“He’s already restrained,” Tony admits, but he looks irritated about it. 

“It was necessary,” Thor adds. 

Tony glares, “Looks like it wasn’t.”

Steve looks between the two of them, wondering at the exchange, but the two just continue to glower. “Thank you,” Steve cuts in, drawing their attention. With his teammates’ attention he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders, but not all of it. The truly dangerous part has yet to begin.

***

The entire team goes up to the medical floor, despite Steve’s best efforts, but he does manage to get them to at least wait outside the door. 

Bucky is back with the boys, all of them curled up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. It warms Steve’s heart to see it, Bucky in the middle with Erik curled under one arm and Charles under the other. 

“Hey,” He whispers, not sure if anyone is asleep, but three sets of eyes focus on him. 

_‘Thank you, Steve,’_ Charles’s voice is still jolting to hear in his mind. 

“I’m just glad they all agreed to keep your secret,” Steve admits. 

_‘They are good people. They understand in their own way,’_ Charles sounds so confident, it helps. “Are we going down now?” Charles asks, out loud this time. He untangles from the family cuddle, coming to stand in front of Steve.

“The team is in agreement, but are you sure you don’t want to wait? You were just unconscious.” 

Charles winces, rubbing at his temple. “I have my shields up, but I can still hear him. Like someone yelling from very far away. I want, no I need, to help him.” 

Steve gets it. He once marched into enemy territory with a prop shield and helmet because Bucky might be alive. Still, he looks to Bucky for confirmation. 

“You sure, champ?” Bucky asks, but he is already getting up. 

“Yeah,” Charles grins. 

Erik comes over, pulling Charles into a one armed hug. They stare at each other for a long time, eyes locked. It’s almost uncomfortable watching them, like seeing something intimate. Steve has no doubt that they are communicating mentally. The moment passes when Erik steps back with a snort, shaking his head at something shared only between the two of them. 

“I’m going in with him,” Erik says. It’s not a questions, it’s practically a threat. 

“Yes, of course,” Steve agrees. He knows better than to try and separate them when Charles might be in trouble. He’d do the same if it was Bucky. 

The team is waiting for them on the other side of the door. Thor looks uncharacteristically nervous, Mjolnir clasps tightly in hand. 

“So telepathy, eh,” Stark, of course, is the first to speak, but he does look genuinely curious. 

_‘You invented a self aware computer, you, of all people, should not be surprised,’_ Charles sends, projecting to everyone in the room. 

Clint is the only member of the team that flinches. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, “I should have realized that would be uncomfortable for you.” 

“It’s fine,” Clint murmurs, but his posture is defensive. 

“Alright, let’s get this sideshow on the the road,” Tony announces, breaking the tension. 

Steve rolls his eyes, but follows him to the elevator. All of them barely manage to squeeze into the elevator. Tony is plastered to the front panel that requires his fingerprints, retinal scan, and some complicated coding to get them down below the arch reactor room. 

Steve has never actually been down here. Loki’s imprisonment had been handled by Stark, Thor, and Fury. Though he had been told that the unique frequency of the arch reactor was able to nullify some of Loki’s abilities, while Asgardian cuffs handle the rest. 

Tony leads them through a series of increasingly complicated locks. Until they reach a giant round door like a bank vault. 

“Sooo,” Tony drawls rapping his knuckles on the metal, “this used to contain some of my old designs I didn’t want getting out, but with some reconfiguring of the Hulk cage and some Asgardian mumbo-jumbo it now holds the wannabe dictator.” He looks at Charles with a quirked brow and waits. 

Charles looks straight ahead, not at Stark, but at the door, eyes narrowed. “I’m ready. Open it.”


	17. The God of Lies

## Chapter Seventeen: The God of Lies

Charles has been seeing hints of the cell since he first entered the tower, but it is different seeing it in person. It is a half circle of some strange clear alloy, set into the back wall. There is a metal bench all along the back of the cell, and nothing else to offer comfort to the man sitting on it.

Well, Charles supposes, he isn’t a man. He may look like one, but his thoughts skitter about in a way Charles has never felt before. 

Loki does not look up at their entrance. He stays pressed against the wall, slumped over his bound hands. His hair hangs lank across his face, like a veil. 

“Loki,” Thor calls, stepping forward, and softer, “brother.” 

His shoulders twitch, dark hair shifting at the movement, but Loki still does not look up. 

Charles takes a step forward, but is stopped by Erik’s hand on his arm. 

_‘I can’t control the metal in this room,’_ he sounds devastated, _‘its the reactor, it’s messing with my powers.’_

_‘I can handle this, you have to trust me,’_ Charles places his hand over Erik’s, giving him a reassuring smile. 

_‘It’s not you I don’t trust,’_ Erik scoffs, but he releases his hold. 

Bucky stands at their side, arm whirring softly, ready to defend if need be. 

Charles may not be as confident in Loki’s response as he’s let on, but he truly isn’t worried, he knows neither of them would ever let anything happen to him. He turns to Tony and gives a sharp nod. 

“Good luck, kiddo,” Tony says, placing his hand on the scanner by the door. 

The Avengers ready their weapons, but Loki does not move when the door slides open with a hiss. 

Charles walks into the cell, accompanied by Dad, Erik, Steve, and Thor. It is ridiculously cramped, but he knows better than to ask any of them to step outside. 

“Loki,” Charles greets, putting a mental push behind his words. 

Finally, he looks up. Loki’s eyes had been a vibrant green in the video, but they have gone dull and dark. He looks skeletal, dark bruises beneath his eyes and sunken cheeks. His gaze darts around to the people suddenly in his cell. His eyes narrow, head tilted in confusion. “I… I know your voice?”

“You do,” Charles agrees, heart clenching for the wounded soul before him. Mental anguish rolls off him in waves. Being cut off from his magic and left alone for days has degraded his health rapidly. Charles takes a seat beside Loki, careful to move slowly. “I’m going to help you.” 

Loki gives a hoarse bark of a laugh, his face transforming with a mask of dark amusement. “Oh, are you?” he huffs, coming further back to himself. He turns to Thor with a sneer, “What is this ridiculousness, Thor?” 

“Brother, you are unwell.” Thor looks devastated, fully realizing that Charles had told the truth. 

Loki scowls, shifting on the bench with vitriol ready on his tongue. Charles stops him with a hand around his wrist. The skin to skin contact helps weaken the barriers of his mind. Charles closes his eyes, and leaps. 

Loki’s mental landscape is full of stars. Points of light fill the blue-blackness of space. Nebulas twist in the distance, vibrant colors swirling through the sky. It should be beautiful, but it is empty. The star light is cold, freezing down to his bones. He looks into the depths of space and is afraid. 

It takes a force of will for Charles to put distance between his consciousness and Loki’s. This deep into his mind, the bleed through is unavoidable. 

“How are you here?” 

Charles turns, just now realizing the rocky landscape behind him. It appears he is on an asteroid hurtling through the cosmos. Loki stands behind him, in the same golden armor he had worn during the battle. 

“I’m a telepath, a mental mage, if you will,” Charles answers, trying to look reassuring. 

“You’re a child,” Loki scowls, “and a human.” He sounds unsure about that last one. 

Charles resists the urge to roll his eyes, he’s not that young. Though he supposes compared to Loki, his lifespan is just a blink of the eye. “Well I’m all you have.” 

“A human child for protection, you have truly fallen now,” a sibilant voice hisses. “I warned you.” 

Charles turns in the direction of the voice. A creature slinks from the shadows, obscured by the rocky landscape. He spots a grey hand against the shadows, a flash of gold around a fanged mouth. 

“Other,” Loki snarls. With a flick of his wrist, a wicked spear appears in his hand. 

“I told you, you would long for something as sweet as pain,” Other grins, teeth sharp. The scenery flickers, twisting. 

Charles grabs at his head, feeling as if his insides are being torn apart. He’s freezing, a biting cold that burns. “Leave him alone,” he growls, and shoves. It might feel like reality, but this is a realm of the mind, this is Charles’ battlefield. 

Other screams, a piercing sound as he forced away in a swirl of smoke. 

Loki’s eyes widen, jaw open in shock, before he manages to replace the expression with one of haunty stoicism. “He’ll return.” 

“I know,” Charles agrees, “but I am here to help you recover. You could push him away yourself if it wasn’t for that.” Charles gestures at the spear, the top lit with ice-blue light. 

Loki glances as the scepter, like he had forgotten it was there. His brow furrows, “This is my weapon.” 

“It’s not,” Charles presses. He takes a step closer, but stops when the light becomes brighter, casting Loki in sickly shadows. There is a flash of blue in his eyes. “I’m sorry for this, I truly am,” he says, pressing his fingers to his temple, because even as a projection it helps. 

The spear brightens, the jewel flaring, but Charles has already grabbed hold. 

The scenery changes. They are still surrounded by stars, but now they are hanging in the abyss. Father, no Odin, looms above them, single eye creased in disappointment, but still they try. 

“I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!”

But Odin does not see the value of their plan. Does not see their value. “No, Loki.” 

Their grip on Gungnir is strong, they could be pulled from the void that nips at their feet, but there is ice in their heart. Ice in their veins, because they are Frost Giant, monster. They let go. 

There is an anguished scream, their brother cries for them, but he is not their brother, he never was. 

The void swallows them whole. The darkness is welcoming, but the cold is not. It bites into their skin, turning Asgardian colors a monstrous blue. Then the voices come. Drilling, hateful words. _Argr. Trickster. Liar. Coward. Monster._

The words burrow into their brain and they scream. The noise is swallowed in the darkness. They are alone. They want to die, but they cannot. 

An eternity passes. 

There is something in the emptiness. It calls to them. Being pulled from the void is like birth. There are bright lights and confusing colors, it hurts and they scream. 

Then there is the light. The blue that consumes everything, it sooths, washes away the confusion. They find peace in that light. They find purpose. 

Charles pulls himself into separate consciousness with a jolt. He’s breathing hard, even though there is no need to breath as he is now. The mind scape has changed again. Asgard looms around him, spires of glinting gold. He is standing in a garden, ripe with greenery and blooms like he has never seen. A dragonfly the size of a bird dances along a pond in the distance. 

“It’s beautiful,” Charles says, walking over to the stone bench that Loki is sitting on. His armor is gone, replaced by a green tunic and black pants. He sees no sign of the spear. “I’m sorry I had to do that to you.” 

“You showed me the truth,” Loki admits, lips twitching in wry amusement. 

“I needed you to see the spear for what it truly was.” 

Loki scowls, looking away. “An infinity stone, the one of the mind. How embarrassing.” 

“You always knew it was there, but it tried very hard to convince you that you were the only one in control. Still, you called out for help. You fought it in the only way you could. The void left you vulnerable. It’s not your fault.” 

Loki scoffs, turning his acid-green gaze back to Charles. “Don’t make excuses for me. The events that have transpired have been of my own making.” 

“Can I show you something?” Charles asks, ignoring his self-flagellation. 

Narrowing his eyes, Loki agrees with a hesitant nod. 

Charles is careful not to blend their consciousness this time, while pushing forward his own memories. He starts at the beginning, at his hazy memories of his frightened parents to the puppet-doctors and their vile helmets. He shows him Erik, strong, amazing Erik, and his mind full of rage yet still capable of such love. There are those first impressions of Bucky, of the forgotten soldier turned assassin, of his quick protectiveness for children not his own. 

He shares their hurried escape and his murder of soldiers just following orders. His hatred and fear over his own strengthening powers even while Bucky and Erik offered support. He gives of his family, one made not of blood, but of shared danger. A family of choice. 

There are tears in Loki’s eyes when Charles finishes. “It isn’t the same,” he bites out. 

“I don’t know much about your dad, but I know Thor enough to know he thinks of you as his brother. Frost giant or not.” 

Loki scoffs, flicking away his tears with his thumb, “The big idiot.” 

Charles laughs. “Yeah maybe, doesn’t make it any less true. He forgives you, you know.” 

“I know,” Loki whispers, the admittance too much, even in his own mind.

Charles lets him sit in silence for a time, admiring the view of a world he will probably never see in person. He hates to break the calm, but he has to, “It won’t work again, the infinity stone I mean. You’ve defeated it, but the Other still has a hold on your psyche. He’ll be able to reach out to you, but you have the strength to push him back now. I can shore up your shields a bit if you want me to, give you more time to recover.” 

Loki shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I’ve had enough of foreign minds, I would prefer to keep my thoughts to myself for change.” 

“I understand,” Charles agrees, having expected as much. “The Avengers are willing to listen to your story, now. They understand these things better than most.” 

“And you’ve already smoothed the way for me, haven’t you?”

“I just convinced them to let me try and to give you a chance. Will you take it?” 

Loki tilts his head back, admiring Asgard’s glorious sky. “I will,” he says after a long stretch. “I’ve never thought much of humans, but,” he gives Charles a searching look, “I’ve been underestimating them.” 

“You have,” Charles grins, pleased. “Are you ready to go back?” 

“I miss it,” Loki says, gesturing to the gardens and the grand buildings beyond. “I miss Asgard as one would miss a limb, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready.” 

Charles reaches out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “They call you the God of Lies, but I know you for what you have always been, a God of Truth. It will be okay, Loki.” 

Loki smiles, a brittle thing, but all the more real for it. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

Charles grins right back, and tips them into reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've actually been a big FrostIron shipper since the Avengers movie first came out, and have always felt that Loki was at least somewhat controlled by the mind stone. It just makes sense with how rough he looked coming out of the portal and the fact that I can't really see Thanos sending Loki after the tesseract without some insurance. Though I also think that, stubborn little shit that he is, Loki had just enough control to fuck the invasion up. This is just my own personal head cannon though, so take it with a grain a salt. 
> 
> This was a fun chapter to write either way, dream/mind sequences can be a lot of fun.


	18. Infinity Stones

## Chapter Eighteen: Infinity Stones

Erik gets a sense of cold, burning him from the inside out, before the connection cuts sharply. Charles has slammed the doors on their connection, but he can’t keep everything out. Erik can feel his fear and determination, it tastes like copper on his tongue.

He clenches his fists, naturally trying to pull at the metal around him, but it does not heed his call. The arc reactor above them leaves the area protected in an electromagnetic field that presses against him. His powers bouncing harmlessly off. It feels like drowning. He wants nothing more than to run from the room and never look back, but Charles is here. He stays. 

Erik knows that time passes differently in the mind, like a dream, but every passing second feels like an eternity. His discomfort must show, because Dad places a hand on his shoulder. The metal is a familiar buzz along his spine. 

They stand silent sentry over Charles and Loki. The two slumped together across the bench. 

Charles gives a sharp intake of breath and Erik feels a jolt of pain. He shifts forward, ready to tear him away, but Dad’s grip tightens. 

“Wait,” he says, gaze never leaving Charles. 

Erik grits his teeth, but holds. 

Loki makes a noise like a wounded animal, tears brimming beneath dark lashes. 

There is a feel of love, support, understanding from Charles. Erik can feel the connection strengthening, Charles is coming back. 

Charles and Loki rise together, both sitting up with a gasp. 

“Charles,” Erik shouts, shooting forward. This time, Dad doesn’t stop him. 

“Hello, old friend,” Charles greets with a tired smile. 

“Idiot,” Erik grumbles, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Yes, he does rather seem to be one to run headlong into danger.” 

Erik turns to find Loki looking at them. He looks better already, eyes bright and focused. He isn’t sure how to respond to that statement, even if he does agree, but Charles beats him to it. 

“For a good reason at least,” Charles argues. 

Loki scoffs, but there is a hint of a smile. “Thank you, young mage,” he glances at Erik and back at Dad, “Son of Barnes.” 

“Anytime,” Charles gives one of those enigmatic looks that always drive Erik crazy, “Son of Asgard.” 

“Loki,” Thor interrupts, hesitant. His shoulders are hunched, trying to look smaller, but failing miserably. 

“I have much I need to tell you,” Loki gestures at the room, “all of you.” 

“The kid says you weren’t all there Reindeer Games. Want to tell us who was really pullin’ your strings?” Tony speaks up from the doorway. 

Loki looks over at him, brow furrowed like he is trying to remember exactly who is speaking. “Man of Iron,” he says. The man has an amazing ability to ask a question while making a statement. 

“Whooh man, someone roofied you hard, ya gotta cut back on that hard stuff, buddy, it’ll knock you on your ass.” 

Loki shoots Thor a look, but the Asgardian shakes his head. “I have never been able to understand the Man of Iron, but I am told he is quite clever.”

Tony sputters, placing his hand over his chest and adopting a look of exaggerated offense. 

“Charles said someone was controlling you, like Hawkeye,” Steve cuts in. 

“It was somewhat different. At the top of the spear is a gem known as an Infinity Stone, the one of the mind,” Loki says, jaw twitching. 

“The Infinity Stones! I thought them long lost,” Thor gasps. 

“As did I,” Loki scowls, “but the titan, Thanos has returned and he hunts for them. The Tesseract is one as well, it is why I was sent to retrieve it. Thanos pulled me from the void and used the mind gem to have me retrieve the Tesseract and draw Asgard’s attention away from him. He used my anger against me. I wanted…” Loki clenches his fists, breathing hard, “I wanted to burn everything to the ground. I wanted to tear worlds apart, I wanted…” 

“You wanted someone to hurt as badly as you did,” Charles says. 

“Yes,” Loki admits.

Erik feels a moment of remorse for the man. He knows what it is to be flayed open by Charles. How it is to be understood from the inside out. It is part of what makes Charles so amazing, but it doesn’t make the process any less painful. 

“Who is Thanos?” Steve asks, breaking the tension. 

It is Thor who answers,” He is one of the Titanian Eternals. They were once known as a peaceful race, but Thanos was different. He courted death and brought an army to slaughter his own people. He was exiled by our father, driven to the darkest pits of space. Many thought him dead.” 

“Clearly Asgard needs to be less presumptuous,” Loki comments, dryly. “He found one of the Infinity Stones in his exile, it gave him the power to return.” Loki holds up his hand, “and before you ask, the Infinity Stones are 6 stones of power that when combined with the Infinity Gauntlet, grant the user near limitless power.” 

“And the Tesseract is one of them?” Tony asks, stepping further into the cell. 

Loki nods, “and the scepter. Which means that you now possess two of the gems, I suggest you protect them. He’ll want them back. Badly.” 

“Where are they?” Bucky asks. 

Tony frowns, “with Shield. The Tesseract was to be given back to Thor so he could return to Asgard with Loki, but the scepter…” 

“Given to Shield scientists to study,” Natasha cuts in from beyond the cell. 

“This all well and good,” Charles murmurs, draggin Erik’s attention back to the telepath still in his arms. “But I think I need to lie down,” in that moment Charles collapses fully into Erik’s arms. 

“Charles,” Erik quickly checks his pulse and breathing. His pulse is strong and breathing steady, but it does little to slow the rapid pounding of Erik’s own heart. “You have to stop doing this.” 

“He has just worn himself out. It’s no small feat to overpower an Infinity Stone,” Loki says, leaning over to get a better look at Charles. The Avengers tense at the movement, but no weapons are drawn.

“Why don’t you take him upstairs,” Bucky suggests. 

Erik wants to know the particulars of this little meeting, but he knows he’ll get the rest of it from Dad, or Charles if he ever manages to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Besides, he’s more than ready to have his powers back. He lifts Charles with relative ease, pulling him tight against his chest.

He is at the door of the cell when Loki calls out to him, “Erik.” 

It is strange to hear the familiarity in his tone. Erik pauses, waiting. 

“I owe Charles a debt. I will not forget what he did for me.”

Erik imagines a debt from an Asgardian would be useful, but he knows exactly what Charles would say. “He’d tell you that you asked for help and he gave it, there is no debt in that.” 

Loki inclines his head, “All the same.” 

Erik returns the gesture before leaving the room. 

It is a long elevator ride with Charles’ weight in his arms, but the moment he is out of range from the arc reactor it gets easier. His metal sense returns like a switch being flipped, reaching out to the metal surrounding him and the small, familiar pieces on Charles. 

While Charles has taken to dressing like a colorblind grandpa, he always makes sure to carry metal. There is his watch, a piece Erik made for their first Hanukkah together in Longmont, cobbled together from old coins and a watchface out of the library lost and found. On his other wrist are stainless steel bracelets he’s collected over the years. He takes comfort in their familiarity. 

Erik takes the elevator to Charles’ room instead of the med bay this time. He places him down, before tucking the blankets over him. Charles rolls over with a grumble, snuggling further into the pillow. 

Erik has to bite back a laugh. The rest of the day's tension finally leaching from his shoulders. Charles is fine, just tired. He can work with that. 

He pulls over a seat and picks up the book he had been reading before. He flips to a page at random, this time reading about translucent fish with antifreeze for blood - _only Charles_. It’s interesting, but he just can’t concentrate. He puts the book down after just a page. 

He knows Charles is fine, can feel it along the bond, but it doesn’t help. Charles hasn’t used his powers like this since their escape from the Institute. He’s out of practice and the constant strain has been wearing on him. Erik has always practiced with his powers, careful to never let his skills weaken, but Charles is different. He can’t help but read thoughts, that’s like breathing for him, but actually manipulating minds takes concentration and he has always refused to practice. He’s pleased that Dad found Steve, truly he is, but he worries what meeting the Avengers will mean for their future, will mean for Charles. 

He sighs, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Charles’ face. “You’re an optimistic idiot you know that,” Erik murmurs, a fond smile tugging at his lips, “but I love you and I need you to be okay.” 

Erik stands up and stretches, wanting to go check on Dad and the others, but freezes at the sleepy voice behind him. “Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone had asked if Erik would remember that he was jewish, and I debated the answer for awhile, because on one hand it seems like something he would forget, but on the other hand it is such a big part or Erik as a character that it didn't seem right for him not to be Jewish. But then I remembered a couple of fanfics where Bucky was Jewish, so I decided that Erik at some point remembers lighting the Menorah with his mom, and asks Bucky about it, which resulted in the Barnes family celebrating Hanukkah.


	19. Brooklyn

## Chapter Nineteen: Brooklyn

Brooklyn is quiet. It sends a prickle of unease down Bucky’s spine in the way the rest of this ghost town New York never could. Still, he finds comfort in the familiar lines of the borough he once considered his. Brooklyn may have been added to over the years - some buildings cleaner and sleeker and some even more dirty and ramshackle than they had been in the Depression - but the bones are the same.

There are ghosts of his past hidden around every corner. Charles has helped him sort his memories over the years, but his earliest memories have been the hardest to recover. Mostly there are just impressions, feelings without context. 

Thinking of Charles reminds him that he shouldn’t be out here, of course. He should be back at the tower watching over his boys, but he knows Erik will keep an eye out. Between the two of them, Erik is better protection anyways, especially in Bucky’s current state. 

He had managed to stay and listen as Loki laid out everything that had happened to him, and his interactions with the Titan. Hearing someone else tell about having their mind taken and twisted to suite someone else’s goals, well, it hadn’t been good for Bucky. 

It had seemed like the walls of the tower were closing in. He needed to get out, and quickly. Bucky hadn’t meant to go to Brooklyn, but he found himself there all the same. The worst of the damage from the invasion had kept to Manhattan, but there is still signs of the invasion. Cracked sidewalks and scattered debris from where aliens had fallen. The bodies are gone, the first things cleaned up by the government, but the impressions remain. 

He walks from block to block. He wants to run, but manages to resist the urge. It’s no use running from the demons within. 

He gives himself an hour before turning and heading back towards the tower. Steve is standing at the divide between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Bucky half expects him to look disappointed, but instead he looks hesitant. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, marching up to him. 

“Nothing!” Steve stutters, eyes wide. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just looking for you.” 

“Oh,” Bucky relaxes his stance minutely. “Why?” 

Steve winces, making Bucky realize he probably sounds like a jerk. “I just wanted to check on you,” Steve rubs the back of neck, looking stupidly shy for such a large man.

Bucky decides to give him a break. “Thanks, I…” now he’s nervous, “the thing with Loki.” He gives a shrug. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “It upset me too, and I’ve never...” he shrugs too, “yeah.” 

They sound like a bunch of teenage idiots. Even worst really, because his boys are never this bad. Bucky doesn’t make it any better when he blurts out, “Want to go for a walk?” 

“Sure,” Steve grins, that sunrise smile that reminds Bucky of Brooklyn. It is in that moment that he realizes Brooklyn had never been a place, not really. Brooklyn is Steve, a scrap of a boy too stubborn for his own good. Even the Steve of now brings those memories, because serum or no, he’s still the same punk. 

There is a spark of a memory, the heavy scent of lucky strikes and alcohol, Steve at his side, strong and healthy. _'How about you? Are you ready to follow Captain America into the Jaws of Death?'_

Bucky remembers the ferocity of his love in that moment, a ferocity that has never waivered. He remembers laughing to hide the look that must be on his face. Throwing jokes like a shield, _'Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him.'_

The memory leaves his heart pounding and he guesses he’s been looking at Steve like an idiot for longer than is necessary, but he doesn’t mention it. “Er, come on, then,” Bucky coughs, marching into Manhattan. 

Steve follows. 

They take a meandering path through Manhattan, heading towards the park in unspoken agreement. The park did not fare well in the attack. One of the giant flying whales, and isn’t that something, had crashed there. Trees are torn down, benches and lanterns flattened. It reminds Bucky of No Man’s Land; the dirt sprayed in all directions, the sharp remnants of broken limbs. The only thing missing is barb wire.

“Oh,” Steve gasps, coming up short. 

“It will be a long time before it can be fixed,” Bucky says, surveying the damage. 

He feels Steve’s eyes on him, searching. “Yeah, but with care it will return.” 

“It will never be what it once was.” 

“Maybe not,” Steve agrees, slipping his hand into Bucky’s, “But it will be all the more loved for those that remember.” 

Bucky huffs, because that wasn’t even subtle, but he remembers his conversation with Erik. Erik who would face down an army without fear to protect his family, but is afraid of rejection. Like father like son, Bucky thinks wryly. 

He looks down at their combined hands, metal bright against skin. Steve had taken hold of his metal hand because he’s a punk. Still, Bucky gives a reassuring squeeze and doesn’t let go. 

They walk back to the tower hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay on this, December was a heck of a month and January has been just as wild. Of course, I give you guys this short little chapter, but sometimes a chapter just naturally ends and this one wanted to stop here.


	20. Gone

## Chapter Twenty: Gone

Steve has never been so nervous in his life. He thinks his palms are sweating, and is actually grateful that he’s holding Bucky’s metal hand so he doesn’t notice. Which is a terrible thought and makes him even more embarrassed. He can feel the heat of his flush working up his cheeks. 

He is just starting to settle down when they make it back to the tower. Which is good because Natasha and Clint are waiting for them. 

Natasha gives him a knowing look, but it quickly turns serious. “Come on boys, you’re late for the meeting.” 

Steve knows that there was no meeting scheduled, but he doesn’t ask. This seems like a conversation to have within the safety of the tower. He gives Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it and heading into the building. 

They take the elevator up in silence, but Clint keeps shifting uneasily, eyes darting around, without ever seeming to settle. Steve can feel the knot already forming in his gut. This is bad. 

All of the Avengers are assembled in the conference room, even Thor. Bucky hesitates at the door, but Steve waves him in, taking the last two seats at the table. 

Tony glances up at the ceiling, for once, all business. “JARVIS.” 

“Security protocols in effect.” 

Natasha leans forward, locking eyes with Steve. “Loki’s Staff has been stolen.” 

Chaos erupts. 

“What?”

“How is this possible?” 

“It was in Shield custody.” 

“What ar….” 

Natasha clears her throat and the table falls silent. “Clint and I approached Shield’s Containment unit with orders to obtain the staff by Director Fury.” A twitch of her lips tells Steve that whatever orders they had, were not from the Director. “We were informed that the staff had been requested by a different division. We acquired the information about the transfer and found that in the system the staff moved through three different sub-groups of SHIELD before any electronic evidence of it disappeared.” 

“So whoever stole the staff had the computer knowledge to hack Shield’s systems?” Steve asks, brow furrowed. 

“No,” Bucky interjects, drawing everyone’s attention. “It means it was an inside job.” 

“Exactly,” Tony huffs, falling back into his seat, “It means that the top secret government organization has something rotten at the core, surprise, surprise.” 

“Hey,” Clint barks, “It doesn’t mean the entire unit is bad, it just means we have a spy.” 

“Yeah, a spy in an organization of spies, should be easy enough to find,” Tony snaps. 

Clint rises out of his seat, but stops when Natasha places a hand on his arm. He sits back down with a petulant scowl, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“We do not know where the leak is coming from, so for now Shield is not to be involved in this matter,” Natasha announces. 

“Not even Fury?” Steve asks. He actually has never been all that fond of Shield. He doesn’t like the secrets, but he has found Fury to be surprisingly direct for a spy. 

Natasha shakes her head.

“Then this information will not leave this room.” 

Natasha’s gaze turns to Bucky, her expression does not change, but Bucky stiffens defensively. 

“What?” he growls. “Do you think I’m involved in this?” 

Natasha holds her stare for a tense moment, before curling her lips up in an expression much to deadly to be considered a smile. “No, I do not think you are involved. I do believe that Charles may be of some assistance in this matter.” 

“That is true,” Thor agrees, “he already has felt the mind stone’s power, with his gift he would be more attuned to it.” 

“Absolutely not,” Bucky snarls, standing up so quickly his chair falls back with a clatter. “I brought them here, but I will not let them anywhere near Shield.” 

Steve, hoping to avoid a full on battle, turns his attention to Bruce. “That isn’t necessary. Dr. Banner you found the Tesseract by studying it’s radiation. Can you not do the same with the staff?” 

Dr. Banner, who was already looking a bit green, takes a deep breath. “Maybe, but I don’t have the same access to scanners that Shield did, or any studies on the type of radiation the stone emites.” 

“Hmm,” Tony straights up, running his hand through his elaborately groomed goatee. “JARVIS has recordings of the staff while Loki was staging his rebellion. And I’m just wounded,” Tony turns to Bruce, hands pressed dramatically to his chest, “just wounded, that you think I wouldn’t have better access than Shield.” 

“Ahh,” Bruce shifts nervously, “then we will get started on that right away.” 

Bucky relaxes somewhat, stepping back to right his chair. 

“Thank you, both of you,” Steve says honestly. 

Tony shrugs uncomfortably, before leaping out of chair and hauling Bruce with him. “Well then, sounds like we’ve got some sciencing to do. Come out Mean’n’Green.” Bruce allows himself to be hauled out of the room, looking exasperated. 

Natasha watches them go with a calculating look, but stays silent. 

“Can you look further into Shield’s system, see if you can track the staff that way?” Steve asks, drawing her attention. 

“Of course,” She nods, leaving the room with Clint. 

Thor is still seated at the other end of the table, hands clenched into fists. 

“Thor.” 

“I should never have let them take the staff. Mind stone or not, I knew it was powerful magicks,” he growls. 

“We’ll find the stone, and we will be ready for this Titan. You didn’t think much of us when you got here, but you should know by now that we are a force to be reckoned with.” Steve pushes away from the table and walks over to the Asgardian. Thor stands to meet him, and it is strange to actually have to look up at him, now used to being to tallest person in the room. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Thor claps him on the shoulder. “You are correct, I should learn to stop underestimating Midgardians. I do not doubt that the Widow or the Man of Iron will be able to find the stone. I do think I will attempt to reach Heimdall, however. He could well aid in this search.” 

Steve nods in agreement, offering Thor the clasp of arms that seems to be his custom. When Thor leaves, Steve and Bucky are once more left alone together. Steve feels like he should say something, mention the moment from before, but the moment has passed. Words stick at the back of his throat and he doesn’t know where to begin. 

Bucky doesn’t look at him. Plates click and hiss as he clenches and unclenches his fist. “I won’t have my boys involved in this.” 

Steve wants to point out that they are already involved, but, for once, doesn’t feel like getting punched in the face. He thinks back to their argument at the World’s Fair. Bucky had been furious at Steve’s continued attempts at enlistment. He has always been fiercely protective of those he considers his and that hasn’t changed. Steve only wonders if he still qualifies. 

“Maybe,” Steve starts, and has to take a deep breath, “maybe you should take them back to Colorado.” The suggestion hurts, he might as well have stabbed himself - it would have been less painful. Steve can tell how torn Bucky is, can see the tension in every muscle, but he can read the stubbornness too. 

“We’ll go back after this is over.” He pivots and marches to the door, hesitating at the threshold.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, wondering if Bucky will invite him along.

Bucky holds onto the door frame, fingers digging into the wood. “I need to check on Charles,” he says, and flees. 

Steve approaches the doorway, running his fingers over the impressions Bucky left behind. He watches his friend go, and forces himself not to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Not Sorry. ;)


	21. Shields

## Chapter Twenty-One: Shields

“You’re an optimistic idiot you know that, but I love you and I need you to be okay.”

    Charles can’t help it. He woke to Erik’s worry and he has to respond. “I love you, too,” he says and feels the world white out. The bond between them sparks and shudders and Charles now has first hand knowledge of what it means for a brain to short circuit.

    He sits up carefully, still feeling worn, but improved. “Come here,” he says, reaching out.

    Erik walks over to him, running on autopilot.

    Charles pulls him down, slow in his movements, cautious, but Erik doesn’t protest. When there is only inches separating them, Charles pauses, waiting.

    Erik closes the gap.

    The kiss is sloppy and short. Neither one of them quite know what they are doing and Erik’s mind is so loud that Charles can hardly concentrate. ‘ _Not so loud, love,_ ’ Charles sends, trying to soothe some of the chaos, but Erik only gets louder.

    Charles pulls away, giving him more space. “It’s alright, I know you weren’t ready to tell me yet, but I...I needed to say it.” Charles has been waiting years for Erik to finally admit his interest, but seeing Bucky reunited with Steve, well, it puts things in perspective.

    “I…” Erik starts, taking a deep breath. He pulls his thoughts into at least a semblance of order.

    “You weren’t ready and you need time. I know. How about I go for a walk. I want to check on Loki anyways.” Charles gets out of the bed with care, he’s light headed, but his legs are strong beneath him.

    Erik baulks, fear shooting across the bond.

    “Erik, Erik stop, its okay,” Charles asures, leaning forward to press another kiss to his lips. He continues across his cheeks and nose, pressing quick touches of reassurance. He finishes with a lingering kiss to Erik’s brow, having to pull him down to reach.

    The fear resceeds. There is doubt and confusion, but beneath that is happiness, contentment, and joy.

    “You shouldn’t go see Loki by yourself,” Erik finally says, and of course his first real thoughts are ones of concern.

    Charles laughs, pressing another kiss to his lips before stepping back. He had promised to give Erik space. “I won’t be by myself. Stop fretting, you worry like an old woman.”

    Erik scowls, affection tickling the edges of the link. “You make it easy to worry.” The word ‘ _liebling_ ’ sneaks between them. It is the German word for darling. Charles recognizes the word from Erik’s scattered memories of his youth, and he knows in that moment that it will be okay.

    “Come find me,” Charles grins, “when you’re ready.”

    A bright blush spreads across Erik’s cheeks. He coughs, looking away with a shy smile, “Always.”

    Charles finds that it is surprisingly easy to leave. Perhaps because he knows that things will have changed for the better when he sees Erik again.

    He takes his time heading down to Loki. He wants to build up his shields a bit more before facing the Asgardian. He also wants to give Erik some privacy so he closes down the bond to stop from eavesdropping.

    “JARVIS,” he calls, once he feels ready.

    “How may I help you?”

    “Could you lead me back down to Loki, I want to check on him.”

    “You aren’t on the approved list,” JARVIS says.

    Not for the first time, Charles is surprised by how much tone he picks up from the AI. JARVIS is a modern marvel, Tony Stark’s most brilliant creation, and almost no one knows about it. “I just want to help with his shields. He means me no harm.”

    There is a pause, actual deliberation, before he answers, “If you would go to the elevator at the end of the hall, I shall lead you down.”

Charles wonders if JARVIS actually asked for permission in his pause or made his own decision. It’s rather novel to not know, even if the lack of thoughts accompanying their interactions still makes him leary. Still, he gets into the elevator. Of course, he promised Erik that he would not be alone, but Charles considers JARVIS to be enough of a guardian.

JARVIS leads the way for him, pointing him down the labyrinth under the tower that guards Loki’s cell. Charles had not been paying much attention the first time he made this trip, and makes note to remember the way. Though he doubts he could ever travel this far without JARVIS or Tony.

When he finally reaches the last lock, Loki looks much improved. Some color has returned to his cheeks, and he seems to have tamed his hair back into place. There are still dark circles beneath his eyes, but he is focused and aware when Charles approaches.

“Son of Barnes,” Loki greets, inclining his head.

“Just Charles, please,” he says, taking a seat beside him. He catches a flash of surprise from the Asgardian, but his face remains impassive. “How’s your shielding?”

“Adequate.”

Charles stares at him, waiting.

Loki folds with a sigh. “They are holding, but I do not have a natural aptitude for the mental arts.”

“I’m not sure how much aid I can offer, but I may be able to talk you through my own methods for shielding.”

Loki narrows his eyes, contemplative. “You never had any instruction in these arts did you?”

“No, not really,” Charles scratches the back of his head, “I had to teach myself, but I ...ah… I’m not, I do know what I’m doing.”

Loki laughs. He throws his head back and laughs, his whole body shaking with it.

Charles flinches back, startled.

    “Forgive me,” Loki chuckles, whipping at his eyes. “In Alfheim, if a mind mage of your talent was not properly trained, they would go mad. You have no formal teaching and are still a bairn, yet you bested an Infinity Stone. I have no doubt to your skills, Charles.” He says his name with a smirk.

    Charles knows he is being complimented, but he cannot help but feel that he is also being mocked. “Will you listen then?”

    Loki opens his arms, palms up, “I shall.”

    Charles takes a deep breath, feeling strangely nervous. “Right, well. Close your eyes and center yourself. It can help…”

    “I do know how to to center myself,” Loki interrupts, smug, but he does close his eyes.

    Charles feels the moment that he’s reached a meditative state. Something in the air shifts. “Right,” he coughs. It takes longer than usually to find his own center. His thoughts are still on Erik, but he pushes them away for now. “How do you view your shields?” His voice sounds far away, even to his own ears.

    “I,” Loki pauses, confusion evident. “I was told to think of my shields as a wall, tall and built of stone.”

    “No,” Charles shakes his head, eyes still closed. “This may work for weaker projections, but walls can crumble. You are an illusionist, correct?”

    “Yes.”

    “Think of a forest. Something old and vast, stretching endlessly in all directions.”

    “The dark fields of Svartalfheim. They cover the realm. Darkness lurks in every corner.”

    “Excellent,” Charles encourages, even as he builds his forest from the mountains of his childhood. “Now build upon that projection. There is an enemy invading your forests, how do you defend?”

    “Mists,” Loki says, sounding very far away, “the forests are filled with mists. Fog that tricks and hides. There are beasts in the woods, creatures of fang and claw.”

    “Good,” Charles encourages, opening his eyes. “No one can hurt you if they cannot find you.”

    Loki’s expression is twisted in concentration.

    Charles can feel the change in his shields. The cloaking of his mind. The shift is immediately obvious and Charles does not attempt to breach it.

    It takes time, but when Loki opens his eyes again, he looks much more relaxed. “That is a better projection, but it is not the same that you use.”

    “No, it’s not, but I have always felt that shields should be specific to each person. Erik and Dad both use different techniques.”

    Loki raises an inquiring brow, “You trained them.”

    Charles shrugs, trying for nonchalant, but he can feel a blush building across his cheeks. “I thought it prudent.”

    “Hmm,” Loki hums, tapping at his temple, “I would think so.” He stares at Charles for a long moment, clearly contemplating something, but with his new protections, Charles has no idea what. “I’m rather surprised to see you here without you brother,” he says as the moment passes.

    The blush had faded, but now returns with a rush. “He’s not my brother n..n..not really,” Charles stutters.

    Loki narrows his eyes. “I thought you told me you were family, ties built on choice rather than blood.”

    “Well, yes,” Charles agrees, looking anywhere, but the Asgardian. “I just, Erik and I… Erik’s more than that.”

    “Oh?” Loki smirks, gaze glinting with mirth.

    Charles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re teasing me,” he accuses.

    Loki chuckles, smirk softening. “You make it very easy. Though I am even more surprised he did not follow you. He seems a protective sort.”

    “Hmm, very,” Charles agrees, lips twitching, though he refuses to smile at the teasing. “He needs time to think about things. We are brothers in many ways and it bothers him, but he will come around. Erik is quick to act in most things, but when it comes to matters of the heart he is much more cautious.”

    Loki tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling, though Charles imagines his gaze is turned to Asgard. “I think most are cautious in such regards. Though I can imagine being able to hear another’s thoughts would make such decisions easier.”

    Charles has been in love with Erik since before he even knew the meaning of the word. “No,” he says, drawing Loki’s attention, “it isn’t any easier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post on this one. I work night shift and sometimes I forget what day of the week it is. ;P


	22. Mistake

##  **Twenty-Two** **:** **Mistake**

 

Erik flees. 

 

It’s perhaps cowardly, no, he knows it’s cowardly, but he needs to move. The streets of New York are still quiet, but life has started to return. The alien corpses are gone, only busted concrete and glass remain. People move carefully through the debris, some helping to clean and others just taking in the damage. 

 

Erik avoids them, taking side streets and cluttered alleyways. The city is comforting, a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. There is so much metal here. It sings, power thrumming in his veins. He walks and walks and walks. His thoughts bounce around, but even without concentrating, he can tell that Charles has blocked off the bond for privacy. 

 

It’s strange that he takes comfort in that. They had once lived so tightly curled within one another that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. He’s not sure when the separation started exactly, but the bond between them has shifted. It used to be his lifeline, the only thing that kept him going, but now...now it is simply there, wanted but no longer needed. 

 

The thought pulls him up short. He’s standing just outside of some skyscraper, the metal humming pleasantly across his senses. By its unique makeup, he can tell the tower is some miles behind him. He’s gone further than he intended. 

 

Erik takes a seat at a bus stop that’s seen better days. He drops his head into his hands and breaths. 

 

He doesn’t need the bond anymore. He doesn’t  _ need _ it. It’s like being electrocuted, the realization. Erik might not need the bond anymore, he might not even need Charles anymore, but he wants it, he wants everything. 

 

His feelings for Charles, for his  _ brother _ , has always felt like something twisted, something wrong. He has tried to hide them, but he should have known he could never keep something like that from the person he shared everything with. Charles knew and he reciprocated. Irritated, Erik realizes that dad had been right. 

 

He takes a long time just breathing in the city. His thoughts flit about, but he feels surprisingly...calm. Still, the sun has started to set by the time he makes his way back to the tower. 

 

Charles is waiting for him, standing stiffly just past the entrance of the tower. 

 

Erik is actually surprised to see him, which is novel, but with the bond shut down he has no sense of him. “Hey,” he greets, wincing at how shy he sounds. 

 

“Hey,” Charles says back with a weak smile. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks, instantly on alert. “Was it Loki?” 

 

“No,” Charles says, shaking his head. He keeps flexing his fingers, the knuckles popping one by one. 

 

He’s fidgeting, Erik doesn’t think he has ever seen Charles so nervous. His stomach drops, dread making his chest tight. “Charles, What’s wrong?” he asks again. He tries to reach out for the bond, tries to sooth the tension he can see in every inch of his friend. 

 

Charles glances away, not meeting Erik’s eyes. “I think I made a mistake.” 

 

Erik takes a step back, shaking his head. His heart is pounding, vision blurred. “No, you said…” he can’t force the rest of the words out. His throat is constricting. He opens his mouth again, but no sounds comes out. There is heat behind his eyes. 

 

Charles steps forward, leaning into Erik’s space. 

 

Erik wants to shove him away, wants to turn and run, but his muscles are locked. 

 

Charles leans in close. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and his voice sounds strange. 

 

Erik’s already wavering sight goes dark.

 

***

 

Erik wakes in a plastic prison. It has to be a nightmare, a horrible vision brought about by Charles’ rejection. He can’t be back.  _ He can’t _ . 

 

He feels terrible. His eyes hurt and his mouth is paper dry. There is a sharp pain in the back of his skull, like a migraine, but beyond the pain is a gaping void.

 

He forces himself to stand on unsteady feet, reaching out until he can touch the cool plastic, thick and solid against his fingers. 

 

There is a click, making Erik look up to find Charles on the other side of the cage. 

 

“Charles,” he gasps, voice raw. 

 

“She’s very good, isn’t she. You are as close as any two could be, and she still fooled you. Well done my girl,” a man says, coming through the door. The man is middle-aged with long, brown hair swept back into an almost 70’s style. He’s wearing a white lab coat. 

 

Erik steps back, an in-bred response to such things, but he’s back to the front of the cage when the man lays his hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Don’t you funcking touch him,” Erik snarls, arm flung out to reach for even the smallest particle of metal, but there is none.  

 

“Oh dear, and I thought you were intelligent,” the man tsks. “Be a dear,” he says, looking down at Charles.

 

Charles’ eyes flash yellow, then he...changes. In Charles’ place, is a young girl. It is hard to guess her age, her skin being covered in blue scales, but there is a softness to her cheeks. 

 

“You’re a shapeshifter?” Erik asks, awed. Hope builds in his chest. Not Charles, it hadn’t been Charles.  

 

She nods shyly, face turned away from the man beside her. “Sorry,” she mouths. 

 

“None of that dear,” the man says, grip tightening. 

 

Erik can tell the grip on her shoulder is painful, but the girl doesn’t flinch.

 

“Go along now, I will deal with our guest. You know what you have to do,” the man says, patting her shoulder. 

 

The girl hesitates, glancing between Erik and the man, but a minute shift in his expression sends her out the door in a hurry. 

 

“It’s such a shame really, that I didn’t get to know you properly when you were younger. Hydra had already lost you by the time I visited the facilities. They never understood what they had in you. Manipulating magnetic fields, so many possibilites.” The man walks over to a wooden table, placing a large case down with a thump. 

 

Erik takes a moment to observe the room. It’s mostly empty, just the cage, the table, and a row of wooden cabinets against one wall. It reminds him of the room he and Charles had spent so much of their younger years in. “You’re Hydra?” he asks. He manages to keep his voice steady, but it is a struggle. 

 

“Hmm, no, think of me as an...independent agent. A specialist if you will,” he flips the clasps on the case, but stops to give Erik is full attention. “How rude of me, I never properly introduced myself. I’m Dr. Sebastian Shaw.” 

 

Erik has never heard the name, has no idea who the man is, but that doesn’t stop the dread curled tight in his guts. 

 

Shaw flips the case open to reveal two objects. The first is a sleek helmet, Erik recognizes the heavy alloy that had haunted his childhood. He tries to reach out for it, but his powers glance of the surface, useless. The second item is a short spear, sharp and twisted in a way Erik remembers from the evening news. 

 

Shaw pulls the spear from the case, smirking at the gem in the blade, it casts a sickly blue glow across his face. “Aliens,” he scoffs, facing Erik, “what a strange time in which we live.” 

 

He approaches the cage, the sharp point of the spear glinting before him. 

 

Erik backs up until he hits the wall. “Don`t,” he snarls, threatening, pleading. 

 

The man opens the door and steps into the cage. 

 

Erik might not have his powers, but he was trained by the greatest assassin of all time. He rushes Shaw, sidestepping the spear and lashing out with a series of jabs; throat, nose, and temple. He puts his whole body behind them, bone shattering hits. 

 

Shaw laughs. His face shifts, an unnatural ripple. “Very good,” he grins.

 

Erik is so startled, he doesn’t move when the man flicks him with his pointer finger. It’s a small movement, the sort of thing children do to tease one another, but it sends him flying. Erik slams against the back wall. His head crashing into the plaster. His ribs scream and pain radiates up his spine. 

 

“Whoops,” Shaw chuckles. He looms over Erik, a dark shadow. There is a flash of blue, a touch to his chest.

 

He fights it, shields strong from years of psychic contact, but he’s weak from the mental stress of before. His metal walls rust and crumble, cool light seeping through. Erik is shoved aside, thoughts made small. His perception shifts, he’s in the room and he’s not. He’s surrounded, senses overwhelmed by bone-chilling cold and comforting warmth. He’s being torn apart. 

 

Distantly, he feels something slide over his head. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins!


	23. East Harlem

 

##  **Chapter Twenty-Three: East Harlem**

 

Bucky stands off to the side of Stark’s lab, trying to stay out of the way.

 

The Avengers are clustered around one of the holoprojectors as Bruce explains the recent gamma spikes the sensors have been picking up in the city. They had been lucky to retrieve the Tesseract from Shield, it having been under much heavier guard than the staff. Bucky isn’t sure of the technicalities, but he knows that they are using its energy to pinpoint the staff.

 

Bucky tries paying attention, but he would rather be anywhere else. It is hard enough being in a lab, but being around Steve so soon after their talk is its own kind of torture. He stays put, however, attempting to listen to Bruce and Stark. Their conversation stops suddenly when Stark gives a yell of triumph.

 

Bucky, despite himself, inches closer. The holo shows an overhead view of Manhattan. On the northern end, near Harlem, is a scatter of blue dots. “What’s going on?”

 

Stark turns to him, grinning. “We got a massive spike in Gamma radiation. It was a fast spike, there and gone again, but it looks like…”

 

Bruce interrupts him, “It looks the same as when Loki used the sceptre.”

 

“That’s because someone just used it.”

 

Bucky spins, pulling out his gun in one smooth motion.

 

Loki is standing in the lab and Charles is with him.

 

“It’s alright, he brought me here,” Charles says, hands out placatingly, but the gesture does little to disguise the absolute devastation in his eyes. “Dad,” he whispers, voice rough, “Erik’s _gone_.”

 

“What?” Bucky growls, rushing forward.

 

Charles meets him midway, clinging to him in a way he hasn’t since he was a child. “I can’t, something went wrong. He just...vanished.” He leans back far enough to tap his temple.

 

“He can’t, he’s not,” Bucky doesn’t know how to react, torn in a hundred directions.

 

“No,” Charles says, eyes wide. “He’s not dead. He’s not. _I’d know_.” He shakes his head, brow furrowed, “but I can’t feel him anymore.”

 

“I think,” Bruce starts, drawing the attention of the room. “We have the answer to that,” he gestures at the screen.

 

“Oh,” Bucky breaths, thinking of the sudden gamma spike in Harlem.

 

Charles gasps, obviously picking up on the thought. His eyes narrow and Bucky feels the force of his mind, filling the room. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the threat of a lurking predator. God help whoever has taken Erik, it wasn’t Bucky they had to worry about.

 

***

 

Loki is escorted back to his cell, useless though it seems now that his mind is clear. The team is hesitant to leave him behind without a guard, but there is little choice. Reports start coming in, a massive attack on Lexington Ave near East Harlem. The support structures are being torn out of buildings without any obvious cause.

 

He looks over at Charles, but the moment the thought crosses his mind to tell him to stay behind, Charles glares.

 

Bucky concedes.

 

They board the Quinjet with the rest of the team, tensions high. Clint puts them down in Central park, as close as they can get, before running the rest of the way. East Harlem had been far enough away from the portal to have received little damage, but now the streets are littered with concrete, metal support beams sticking out at odd angles.

 

Bucky doesn’t recognize where they are, the streets have changed beyond recognition, and it’s not like he spent much time this far north in his youth. The people haven’t changed much, however. Despite the alien invasion and recent evacuations, there are still gawkers watching from the sidelines, pointing excitedly as Ironman and Thor fly by.

 

Even expecting it, Bucky freezes at the sight of Erik. He’s in the center of an intersection, shards of metal spinning around him like a tornado of knives. Beneath the sharp point of the blocking helmet, Bucky can see the eerie blue of Erik’s eyes. His face is disturbingly blank.

 

‘ _Dad_ ’ Charles shouts, with a mental shove.

 

Bucky doesn’t think, he just moves, and not a moment too soon. A tornado like funnel roars across the road, flinging cars and debris at all angles.

 

“Whoa,” Stark’s voice comes crystal clear through the coms. “Looks like we have more than just metal boy here. Jarvis is picking up 4 signatures.”

There is a grunt over the system then Natasha’s voice, “Make that 5.”

 

“What the hell is that?” Clint squawks over the line.

 

‘ _That is Azazel, he’s a mutant with teleportation abilities_ ,’ Charles says, not needing the coms to talk to all of them.

 

Bucky remembers the strange red boy from Panama. A glance in Natasha’s direction shows that Azazel has certainly grown up. He’s over 6 feet now and has only gotten faster, puffs of red smoke echoing across the field as he taunts the spies. Only quick thinking keeps them from his deadly tail. Bucky can only spare a second of attention, however, before more whirlwinds are thrown his way.

 

‘ _That’s Riptide, careful, he can grow knives out of his bones and launch them into the hurricanes as well_ ,’ Charles warns.

 

“Oh excellent,” Bucky huffs, leaping behind a car.

 

“Ironman, look out,” Steve shouts, running into the fray, shield held before him.

 

“Shit,” Stark curses.

 

Bucky looks up in time to see Ironman struggling to fly, repulsors sputtering.

 

“It’s a gold-titanium alloy, it’s a non-ferrous metal!” Stark complains, repulsors whining as he increases power, struggling to get out of the hold Erik has on his suit.

 

“He manipulates electromagnetic fields Tony, he’s using the wiring. Get out of there,” Bruce shouts. He’s staying out of the fight for now, waiting. Bucky really hopes they don’t need the Hulk for this one, but it’s not looking good.

 

“Fuck,” Stark curses again. The suit gives a horrible screech, before opening up. He falls to the ground with a huff, rolling out of the way just as his suit is crushed, twisted into a lump of gold and red.

 

Bucky turns his focus back on Riptide, leveling is rifle and taking aim, but he stops, hesitating. “Charles can you stop them like you did last time?”

 

“ _I’m trying, there’s another telepath and she’s stronger than the last guy_ ,” Charles hisses. “ _Oh no, she’s trying to…_ ” His mental voice trails off, but Bucky can feel Charles’ mental presence strengthen, falling over him like a shield.

 

Bucky doesn’t what to shoot the man, doesn’t know if he is being controlled or if he had spent his life in labs like the boys, but Bucky is used to making the hard choices. He fires.

 

Riptide twists at the last second, winds throwing the bullet of course before retaliation with a whirlwind that sends Bucky diving for new cover.

 

Chaos erupts as the teams clash. Bucky catches glances of a woman with skin like diamonds, facing off against Stark. Another man with no visible mutations seems to be holding his own against Thor. And Steve, the great idiot, is facing off against Erik.

 

This is bad. This is very very bad.

 

Bucky dodges another bone projectile and runs. He sprints full tilt at the mutant. Riptide’s eyes widen, clearly surprised by the suicidal dash, but that instant of hesitation is all he needs. He puts the full force of his metal arm behind the punch, feeling bones crush beneath the blow. Riptide crumbles, out for the count. Bucky doesn’t spare him a glance, he needs to get to Steve.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took so long. I rewrote this thing like three times and I’m still not that happy with it. I basically just threw my hands up and decided to try again from Steve’s POV in the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This story really came out of no where. I was watching the Plague Dogs cartoon, which is not nearly as whimsical as it sounds, and decided that the two dogs really reminded me of Charles and Erik. I've written 9 chapters already and have the rest planned out so this should faithfully be updated every other Monday. Hope you enjoy.


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